Have You Got The Time

Hi dear friends and followers. Today is poem day and I invite you to take a few minutes of your time to relax and read. 

Just my own observations on the power of light and darkness and what intervenes between, Love   

Have You Got The Time

The values of the material world

do not restrain the values of the soul.

Only that of the body is measured and weighed.

The light of the soul cannot be contained,

no more than love can be touched or packaged.

The soul measures only with the values

that are contained solely in the heart.

Love is the only measuring stick

that can measure the depth of the soul, the light.

The candle sends the darkness scurrying

to the corners of the container, the body.

The soul, most only think about occasionally;

you have been interested but never enough,

for you felt safe hiding in your shadow.

Ignorance is bliss, as some may say.

When the truth is that in order to know the light,

In truth, you must also know the darkness,

before you can want or know the light.

Then shall the light reveal what lies ahead.

Night birds may think daybreak a kind of darkness,

because that is the cycle that is normal to them.

The heart is the candle in the spirit's darkness;

its brightness is dependent on its depth.

The motion of darkness and light

is in constant battle for position;

the life and death cycle, even the stars and galaxies

are born and die.

The constant dance of death and life,

is like ballerinas dancing in the heavens above.

Clouds of darkness, clouds of light,

in an infinite battle for supremacy

which can be called evil and good,

when both forces are fighting for dominance.

Some for survival, for even the very elements,

of nature and universe both from dust they came,

to dust it shall all return.

Such are the cycles of death and rebirth,

universe without end.

The time the Lord then appears,

and there was silence for a long time.

Then suddenly with the clamor,

like that of broadswords clashing,

thunderbolts and lightening flashed!

Their swords ringing on their shields,

the voices of the great thunder gods rose,

violent chaos of brightness and darkness,

flaming in every color imaginable;

great flashes of light everywhere,

as great masses of darkness move.

Consuming the light, chaos there is,

but also there is order in the chaos,

despite the hunger of one force

to consume the opposing force.

So it is, and it will be

the Lord of Time who will give them a gift;

that gift is love, a thing more real,

a thing so lasting,

that not even the time lord will outlast it!

No power in the universe,

not supernova or black hole,

can alter this force,

for it was made to endure

until even to the end of the lord of time.

On a world far away the time had come;

the dull grayness of eternal mists

began to lift as the three moons of Darco,

arose one by one, each in their unique

and spectacular colors, rainbow moons,

Seen for the first in their splendor

from the base of the giant trees

of a prehistoric rain forest.

One might say life began here,

Composed by Cynthia

©

I'm glad to see you here! Thank you for reading the poem I would appreciate knowing what your thought are on this weeks poem. Thank you and have a wonderful weekend

✿ڰۣ❤In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady❤ڰۣ✿

Frizzy Lizzy time {:o)

“
Hi dear friends and followers, today is Frizzy Lizzy day. Take a couple of minutes relax and catch on couple of smiles that you were short of to finish the week

Yoo-hoo! I'm in here! Yes, there's coffee, so pour one and come in here!”

“I started working on a project on this computer a week ago and it should have taken me a day, maybe two at the most. Here I am, five or six days behind on what was to be a simple task: getting my household information in the computer.

“It's not like I had the New York Public Library to copy. I had my recipes, my checking account, and my income tax information and it feels like I'm rewriting the entire dictionary!

“No, I never was around anyone who owned a boat. What's that? It's a hole in the water into which you throw your time and money? This computer feels like it's the same thing, right here in this room! Home computers are the perfect thing for women who don't feel that men provide them with enough frustration!

“No, a computer is not an unfeeling machine. It must be able to sense when you're getting really disgusted with it. Then it behaves even worse. I believe that the design of the entire computer universe was based on humanity. Parts of it seem to be male and other parts seem to be female.

The INTERNET was designed to act like some women: sometimes down and difficult to access.

The SERVER was patterned after a marriage partner: always busy when you need them.

WINDOWS design was definitely based on a man: everyone knows that he can't do a thing right, but none can live without him.

POWERPOINT brings to mind a husband on Sunday afternoon during football season: You can get him to do something but anything beyond a half-hour is more trouble than it's worth.

And I believe that men see EXCEL like it woman-based: They say she can do a lot of things but they mostly use her for their four basic needs.

WORD goes either way, like a partner who always a surprise reserved for you, but no one in the world is able to fully understand them.

DOS is like a head cold: Everyone has had it at least once, but no one wants it anymore.

BACKUP is like packing for a trip: You always believe that you has everything you need, but when the "X-hour" comes, you find out that you have missed something.

VIRUS is a mother-in-law: When you are not expecting her to, she comes, installs herself and uses all your resources. If you try to uninstall her you will lose something, but if you don't try to uninstall her you will lose everything.

A doctor is the basis for SCANDISK: You know that he or she is good and that she or he only wants to help you, but you never know what he or she is really doing that for.

A SCREENSAVER is a friend with benefits: They may not be worth anything, but at least they're fun!

RAM man: He forgets everything you say when you disconnect him.

HARD-DISK woman: She remembers everything, FOREVER.

MULTIMEDIA person: The eternal optimist who makes horrible things look beautiful.


“I heard that someone once asked Bill Gates: 'Is studying computer science the best way to prepare to be a programmer?'

Bill Gates: 'No, the best way to prepare is to write programs, and to study great programs that other people have written. In my case, I went to the garbage cans at the Computer Sciences Center and I fished out listings of their operating system.'

“And this is supposed to be a labor-saving device? I think I'll stop here. Let's put some liquor in our coffee and take the rest of the day off! See you later!

I'm glad to see you here! I would appreciate knowing what your thought are these weeks Frizzy Lizzy. Thank you and have a wonderful weekend

✿ڰۣ❤In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady❤ڰۣ✿

MOUNT MIANOMO

Hi dear friends and followers

The last of the New England states in our survey of Native American Legends is Rhode Island. This state is the smallest in land area of the 50 states. It occupies a position between Connecticut and Massachusetts on what was most likely a well-worn trail long before it became the Boston Post Road, U.S. Route 1, or Interstate 95.

The map shows that the greater portion of the area was occupied by a tribe of people who spoke an Algonquian dialect and were known as the Narragansett. This legend has to do with them and is taken from a book that was published in 1903 and is now in the public domain.

The story involves the chiefs of the Narragansett and the Wampanoag Peoples, a pretty young Wampanoag woman, and the passage of time. Pour yourself a coffee or an iced tea and enjoy the retelling of the Legend of Rag Rock.

The following is a condensed version of the story that was published in American Myths & Legends by Charles Skinner:

MOUNT MIANOMO, or Rag Rock, in Woburn, Massachusetts, was one of the dead monsters that had crawled down from the north with ice and stones on its back to desolate the Sun God's land. All of these creatures were checked when they reached the hollows dug by the Sun God to stay their march—the hollows that have become the pretty New England lakes—and there the God pelted them to death with heated spears.

At the foot of this hill, [four] centuries ago, lived many of the Aberginian progenitors [Northern Tribes], it is said, of the Aber-Nits, that arose on the isle of Manhatta in after years.

Their chief was one Wabanowi, who thought more of himself than all the rest of his people did, who never learned anything, never made a true prophecy, and passed into vulgar local history as Stick-in-the-Mud.

This chief had a daughter, Heart-Stealer, and he made it a duty to nag and to thwart her in every wish, as befitted the Indian parent of romance. Fighting Bear, chief of the Narragansetts, fell in love with the girl, and after a speech of three pages in which he likened himself to the sun, the storm, the ocean, to all the strong animals he could remember, and the girl to the deer—could it have been a dear? —the singing bird, the zephyr, the waves, and the flowers, he descended to business and claimed her hand.

Every Indian, he said, had heard the prophecy that a great race with sick faces, hair on its teeth, thickly clad in summer, and speaking in a harsh tongue, was coming to drive the red man from the land of his fathers. 

By this marriage the Aberginians and Narragansetts would be united, and two such families could destroy anybody or anything.

The professional pride of Stick-in-the-Mud was touched. He sprang to his feet and cried: "Who has foretold this? I didn't. There is only one prophet in this district, and that's me. It isn't for green youngsters, Narragansetts at that, to meddle with this second-sight business. Understand? Moreover, my arm is so strong it needs no help to exterminate an enemy. I can beat him with my left hand tied behind me. Had you merely asked for my daughter I would have given her up without a struggle. If somebody doesn't take her soon I shall lose my reason. But you have added insult to oratory, and if you don't go quick you'll never get there at all."

Thus speaking, Stick-in-the-Mud once more wrapped his furs around him so that only his nose and his pipe were left outside, while Fighting Bear folded his arms, scowled, observed something to the effect that, Ha, ha! a time would come, and strode into the forest.

One evening a smoke hung over Rag Rock and shadowy figures flitted through it. A vague fear possessed the public. Stick-in-the-Mud, waking from a mince-pie dream in the middle of the night, saw in his door, faint against the sky, the shape of a woman who beckoned, and, hoping to uncover some secret that would be more useful to him in his fortune-telling matches than his usual and lamentable guess-work, he arose and followed her.

The spirit moved lightly, silently up Rag Rock and entered a cavern that the chief had never seen before—a cavern glowing with soft light and bedded with deep moss. He sank upon this cushioned floor, at a gesture from the spirit; then, with her arms waving above him, he fell into a sleep.

Next day, and for several days, the citizens scoured the woods, the hills, and every other thing except themselves, in the search for Stick-in-the-Mud, but they did not find him. Another man, who had enjoyed singular misfortune in foretelling the weather, was promoted to be seer; then when the news reached Rhode Island—that was what it was going to be before long—Fighting Bear hurried to the scene of his former interview and again claimed Heart-Stealer as his bride. Nobody said a word, so he took her to his home.

Now came the men of sick and hairy faces, white men, who wanted the earth and took it, making it no longer a pleasant place to live on. It was plain that they were the people whose coming had been foretold, and when King Philip waged a war against the English, Fighting Bear and a hundred of his friends joined in the riot. He was beaten soundly, and, being a man of sense, once was enough. He kept the peace after that.

When Stick-in-the-Mud awoke, the cave was lighted again and the spirit that had led him there stood watching. As his eyes opened she spoke: "Wabanowi, I caused you to sleep that you might be spared the pain of seeing your people forsake their home for other lands. The men with pale faces and black hearts are here. Had you been with your people you would have stirred them to fight, and all would have been killed. As it is, they have not fought. I now set you free. Go into the Narragansett country and live with your daughter. You will find her married to Fighting Bear. Do not disturb their happiness. Come."

Then the rock opened and the chief tottered into the sunlight. He was full of rheumatism and fringed with moth-eaten whiskers that presently made the dogs bark. He needed new clothes. He needed a dinner. He needed a smoke. If he had known anything of fire-water he would have been sure that he needed a drink. He looked down at Lake Initou: not a canoe! On the site of his village: not a wigwam! The trees had been cut, log houses stood in the clearings, people with colorless faces were using strange implements in tilled fields.

A cock crowed. Stick-in-the-Mud started; it was a new sound to him. A horse laughed; he winced. A sheep bleated; he began to sweat. A cow lowed; he started for a tree. A jackass warbled; he looked around for the cave, but it had closed.

Descending, after he had gained confidence, he shaved himself with a quahog shell, found his wreck of a canoe, guided it for the last time across the lake, and landing at its southern end crushed it to pieces—not the pond, but the canoe. Then he went to Providence, where his daughter met him and presented a few of her children, who climbed over him, hung on to his hair, and otherwise made him feel at home.

He saw that he had been outclassed as a prophet and that if he had taken the advice of his son-in-law he might have avoided being put to sleep in Rag Rock. Still, this Indian Rip Van Winkle had been refreshed by his slumbers, and he lived for a long time after, spending a part of every pleasant day in playing horse with the youngest of his grandchildren—for he had found that horses do not bite hard—and proudly watching the replacement of youngest No. 8 by youngest No. 9, then by No. 10, and so on to a matter of 18 or 20.

[Each] September, on the day nearest to full moon, he still goes back to Rag Rock and looks off at sunrise. You may see him then, or you may see him half an hour later skimming the surface of Horn Pond in his shadow canoe. Having thus revisited the scenes of his youth, he retires for another year.

The moral of the story is that Wabanowi should have listened to Fighting Bear and allowed him to marry Nansema. The Aber-Nit and Narragansett Tribes would have been united, and therefore better able to fight-off the English settlers. Wabanowi's Guardian Spirit had put him to sleep until his tribe was dispersed, sparing him the pain of observing his tribe being obliterated by the English settlers.

I'm glad to see you here! Take five and enjoy the story. I appreciate knowing what you think of this legend, or any other story. Thank you and have a wonderful Thursday

✿ڰۣ❤In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady❤ڰۣ✿

BIG EATER'S WIFE

Hi dear friends and followers.

We are almost finished with our survey of the Native Peoples of the New England states of the U.S.A. All that is left is to look at the people who were the original settlers in the states of Connecticut and Rhode Island. Please keep in mind that the Native Peoples did not have rigid lines between their territories. Such lines are the result of observations by European settlers after 1620.

The Native Peoples of Connecticut were the Nipimuc, Pequot, Mohegan, Quiripi, Mahican, and Munsee. They shared the Algonquian language group, so they were able to communicate with each other to some degree. The name, “Connecticut” is the Algonquian word that means “long river” and refers to the Connecticut River itself.

The Mohegan and Pequot are federally-recognized tribes whose culture and language is being revived by band members. We have already looked at Mohegan legends so this time we will see what sort of legend the Pequot might have shared around the fireside.

BIG EATER'S WIFE

Big Eater ate and ate. He never stopped eating. He had his wigwam and two canoes on an island close to the mainland shore. Big Eater was powerful, but sometimes an evil ghost woman can defeat the most powerful man.

One day, Big Eater was looking across the water, and there on the opposite shore he saw a beautiful young woman digging clams. How could he possibly know that she was a ghost witch?

He hailed her across the water: “Beautiful girl, come live with me, Be my wife!”
“No,” she said. “Yes – No. Yes. No Yes, yes, yes! Well, alright!”

Big Eater got into one of his two canoes and paddled over. Thew woman was even more beautiful close-up. “Alright, pretty one, step into my canoe.” “Yes, but first I must get my things.” Soon the girl came back with a mortar, a pestle, and some eggs. She put them in the canoe, and Big Eater paddled her over.

They ate. The beautiful woman said, "Oh my, what great heaps of food you can eat!” “Yes, I am powerful that way.” They went to bed. “Oh my, how often you can do it!” “Yes, I am powerful that way.” “Indeed, this is so!” So they lived happily for a long time.

But after a while this girl got tired of Big Eater. She thought, “He's fat, he's not young. I want a change. I want to have a young, slim man loving me. I will leave.”

So when Big Eater went out in one of his canoes, the girl made a doll as large as a grown woman. She placed the doll in her bed, took her mortar, pestle, and eggs and put them in Big Eater's second canoe, and paddled off.

Big Eater came home early from fishing. Thinking it was his wife he was climbing in with, he got into bed. He touched the doll, and the doll began to scream and shriek. “Wife,” he said, “stop this big noise or I am going to beat you.” Then he saw that it was a doll lying in bed with him.

Big Eater jumped up and looked around. The mortar and pestle and eggs were gone. He ran down to the shore, got into the remaining canoe, and paddled furiously after his wife.

Soon he saw her, also paddling hard. But he was stronger than she and pulled closer and closer. He drew up behind her canoe until both almost touched. “Now I'll catch her,” he thought.

Then the woman threw the mortar out of her canoe, over the stern. At once all the water around him turned into mortars and Big Eater was stuck. He could not paddle until at last he lifted his canoe and carried it over the mortars. By the time he was in clear water again, his wife was a long way off.

Again he paddled furiously. Again he gained on her. Again he almost caught her. Then she threw the pestle over the stern, and at once the water turned into pestles, Again, Big Eater was stuck, trying to paddle through this sea of pestles, but unable to. He had to carry his canoe over them, and when he hit open water again, his wife was far distant.

Again Big Eater drove through the water with all his strength. Again he gained on her; again he almost caught her. Then from the stern of her canoe the woman threw the eggs out. At once the water turned into eggs, and once more Big Eater was stuck. The eggs were worse than the mortar and pestle because Big Eater couldn't carry his canoe over them. He hit the eggs, smashing them one by one and cleaving a path through the gooey mess. He hit clear water, and his wife's canoe was only a dot on the horizon. Again he paddled mightily.

Slowly he gained on her again. It took a long time, but finally he was almost even with her. “This time I'll catch you!” he shouted. “You have nothing left to throw out.” But his wife just laughed.

She pulled out a ling hair from her head, and at once it was transformed into a lance. She stood up and hurled this magic lance at Big Eater. It hit him square in the chest, piercing him through and through.

Big Eater screamed loudly and fell down dead. That's what can happen to a man if he marries a ghost-witch.

I'm glad you're here! Take five and enjoy the story. I appreciate knowing what you think of this legend, or any other story. Thank you and have a wonderful Thursday

✿ڰۣ❤In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady❤ڰۣ✿

Believe Tonight, Forever

Hi dear friend and followers. Today is poem day and I have a poem for you about believing. Take five minutes, relax and enjoy the read. 

Believe Tonight, Forever

It was time for sleep, so she went to her room.

She stood in the open window that night,

just as she had a thousand nights before.

The southerly breeze fluttered the lacy, white curtains;

they moved like ghosts in her small, dark room.

She looked out, then sighed, in detachment,

and turned toward her bed for sleep;

that was when she heard her name,

whispered so softly, nearly inaudible.

She looked around the window,

but no one was to be seen.

With heavy eyelids she turned once more,

to lie in her bed and finish her day.

Once more the whisper came, softly.

She turned again to the familiar window.

At first all she saw was the ghost-like curtains,

aflutter on the southerly breeze,

illumined by a faint glow,

like that from a full moon.

Then another whisper, but not to fear!

Back to the sash she went to look.

“Someone knows my name, so late at night.”

A gust then blew and ruffled her hair;

for the briefest of moments she could not see.

She brushed it aside; was she in a dream?

No more in her bedroom, or even the house,

she was among the stars; they shone all about!

Great and small, near and far,

she was in a galaxy of stars.

And at its center was a magnificent sight,

the likes of which one might see in their dreams -

and most likely never will again in her lifetime.

A being emitting such a bright blue light

that did not burn or consume it at all,

not like the stars, which consumed all about them.

The being of light transformed itself before her,

as they stood face-to-face in a field of stardust.

He looked like a prince in the raiment of light.

His robes were the flaming blue!

Unlike any other prince she had ever seen.

Fog lay over the place where they stood;

so thick it was, that all she could see

was the island of stardust upon which they stood.

The being now took a human form;

A handsome man was he, in blue and white robes.

She saw that in his frosty blue eyes,

the blue flame still flickered within.

With his right hand he gestured,

“Come and follow me.”

Not a word was spoken. None were needed.

Both minds and hearts were the same.

The fog thinned and faded away.

Then she saw the most beautiful of landscapes.

The sky was of teal, the land's flowers a rainbow;

the rivers and lakes were of turquoise.

They flew over a great canyon,

over the mountains and down into a valley,

into shades of purple, blue, and green;

to a fortress structure with tall, golden spires.

It appeared from out of nowhere

on a hillside before them.

Within, a multitude wandered

to and fro the cathedral size rooms.

Some of the forms she noticed

appeared to be but shadow figures,

others, more solid, like herself she thought.

Seen from within the rooms were infinite,

Just like the universe outside its walls.

The moon could be seen in its eastern arches

and the sun in the western ones

as though there was no passing of time there.

They entered another cathedral room

this with a high, pillared dome,

through which could be seen

all the stars and galaxies,

of all sizes and colors they provided

the illumination of this cathedral room.

“Heaven knows not the darkness, all is light,” she thought.

They sat at large, heavily-ornamented table,

complete with the tall backed matching chairs.

After the being sat,

he said through my thoughts,

“What you have seen are souls in transit,

and this place is the pool

for all sentient beings

at different stages of being;

Some will return to continue their journey

learning about the value of the life, essence, or spirit.

Others will evolve and move

into the higher plains of learning.

But I have come to tell you

of troubling times in your future.

After we are done with this meeting

you will not remember it;

Not until the time of your awakening.

This is the temple of love and life.

Someday, at your journey's end

you shall return here.”

While sitting in the chair she felt a feeling,

feeling so secure and loved,

like being bathed in warm, golden summer sun.

She drifted on the aroma of the many blooms.

She trusted this being with all her heart.

As her heavy eyelids fell

she was adrift as though,

floating at sea in a raft.

She heard him call.

She smiled as she heard

his soft thoughts in her mind.

Her eyes fluttered open, their eyes met.

Softly he spoke, for the first time in human voice

“It is time to go back,” he told her.

She did not want to go back.

She knew this was home;

there was never any other.

She only desired

to remain at his side

to serve

Quickly she stood and took his hand,

traveling back through the lands of in-between;

she savored the trip, at his side.

A deep love she had for him; tears traced her cheeks

at the thoughts that they would have to be apart

while she returned to her world.

Thoughts came through her mind again,

his thoughts assuring her that he would never be far.

If he was needed he would be there, but in spirit only.

But she would know, because they will always be

together in the heart.

They laughed playfully as they flew,

through clouds of glowing nebula gas.

The morning had arrived as she lay in bed

listening to the birds.

The experience of the night before faded

like it had only been a dream.

But the light being she never forgot.

Written by Cynthia

Thank you for taking interest and reading this poem. You are also invited to share your thoughts and comments, they are greatly appreciated. Thank you and have a wonderful day

In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady

Mohegan and Wampanaug legends

Hi dear friends and followers. Today we visit the Native American Mohegan and Wampanaug legends

Today we will look at a Native legend from what was known by the English at the time as the Plimoth Colony. If you look across Cape Cod Bay from the extreme end of Cape Cod you will find the town of Plimoth. Boston is not listed on this map because it had not yet been established.

There are numerous tribes of Native People listed on this map but it appears that the Wampanoag were the dominant group in the Plimoth area. Just to the west and south were the Mohegan. The following stories are taken from an anthology of Native stories and each is attributed.

The Little People mentioned in the second story are what many would call fairies. Yes, the Native Peoples believed in them, too!

Mohegan and Wampanaug legends

Why Lovers Should Never Become Jealous

There once were a young Mohegan man and woman who were very much in love. All of the older people remarked on it: "Look at that-they are very happy."

One day the young man killed a deer. He brought it to the woman he loved and laid it in her house. But for some unknown reason, he suddenly became jealous. Then he seized the antlers of the deer and rushed up to her and pressed them on her forehead.

The antlers grew on her head, and no one could get them off her. They grew and grew until her parents thought they would grow through the roof of their wigwam. The young woman's family grew increasingly anxious and sent for the powwow or shaman. With a magic oil, he rubbed the place where the antlers were attached to her head, and soon the antlers dropped off.

After all that, the young woman was all right but the young man was so scared by his jealous rage that he ran away and never came back.

(Adapted from William S. Simmons, 1986, Spirit of the New England Tribes: Indian History and Folklore, 1620-1984. Hanover NH: University Press of New England.)

The Silver Pipe

Massasoit was the sachem of the Wampanoag and was widely known for his fairness. King James of England heard about Massasoit and wanted to reward him for his goodness with the

 

gift of a silver pipe. Massasoit prized the pipe given to him by the king, but later gave it to one of his warriors as a reward for bravery.Later in life, the warrior grew ill and knew he was going to die. He asked his wife to bury the pipe with him in his grave. Unfortunately, she was greedy and wanted the pipe for herself, so when her husband died, she hid the pipe and did not bury it with him. A few days later, she went to the place where she had hidden the pipe, intending to smoke it and then hide it again. 

She reached into the hiding place and felt for the pipe, but it moved away from her all on its own. She tried again and again to reach the pipe, but it continued to move on its own, and she suddenly knew that her husband's spirit was keeping it from her. She vowed to do as her husband had asked her and bury the pipe with him if she could reach it. As soon as she made this promise, she reached in again and found the pipe in her hand.

She buried the pipe with her husband and was no longer bothered by his spirit or with guilt over her actions in breaking her promise to him.

(Adapted from William S. Simmons, 1986, Spirit of the New England Tribes: Indian History and Folklore, 1620-1984. Hanover NH: University Press of New England.)

The Little People or Makiaweesug

Long ago, before White people came, there were giants and little people as well. These "little people" were called Makiaweesug by the Mohegan, and those who were especially perceptive could see them sometimes in the woods. They were generally friendly to the Indian people, especially if they were left alone. The Little People were quite shy, and if you stared at them, they would point their finger at you and then you could no longer see them, and they could cause mischief and you wouldn't know whether they were doing it or whether it was just an accident.

If the Makiaweesug came to your house asking for food, you should always give them what they wanted. Otherwise, they might point at you so you couldn't see them and then take whatever food they wanted. And even if the Little People did not come to your house, it was a good idea to leave some food for them so they would not have to come up to the house. Small baskets were made for this purpose, and the Mohegan left these baskets with food at the edge of the woods so the Little People could take it and not bother the people.

Although the Little People were shy, they occasionally needed the help of Indian people. On one dark and stormy night, a Mohegan man and his wife were at home by their fire. 

They heard a rap on the side of their wigwam, and the woman went to see who it was. The wind blew in as she opened the door to see who was there. A Little Person was there-a man-but she thought it was a boy. He said that he needed her help because his wife was sick. She packed up a few things and told her husband that she was going out to help the man. 

With the Little Man leading her, she walked on and on through the storm, and the woman didn't know where she was being taken. At last she saw a light in front of her, and there was a house. Saying nothing, the Little Man led her inside and showed her his wife: a Little Woman lying ill on a bed of skins. The Mohegan woman was surprised, because it was at that point that she realized that she was with the Little People. But keeping her surprise to herself and not asking any questions, she doctored the Little Woman and stayed with them until the Little Woman was well again.

Because the Little Woman was better, it soon was time for the Mohegan woman to go back to her own wigwam. The Little People gave her presents, thanking her for the kindness she had shown in leaving her own home to take care of the sick Little Woman. The Mohegan woman packed up her belongings and medicines and then the Little Man put a skin blindfold over her eyes and led her away from their house and back to her own. When they arrived, she took the blindfold off, but the Little Man was already gone and she could not tell which direction they had come.

She told her husband about her adventure and they wanted to find the Little People and looked and looked for them but couldn't find them. Some think that the Little People died out when the Whites came, but the Mohegan feel that they just live far back in the woods and show themselves only to those who still believe in them.

(Adapted from William S. Simmons, 1986, Spirit of the New England Tribes: Indian History and Folklore, 1620-1984. Hanover NH: University Press of New England.)

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✿ڰۣ❤In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady❤ڰۣ✿