❤❤Merry, merry, Happy❤❤

❤❤Merry, merry, Happy❤❤

I just wanted to say, with Christmas almost upon us, 

be safe this holiday season. I send you all my love from the Fairy lady. 

May Santa bring you what ever it is you need, 

from bread to eat to the land of Aberdine ,

where reality is a dream and the dream is the reality.

Where it is forever May,

in the land where the butter flies and fairies,

 dance among the dance among the daisies.  

I wish you all love, peace, harmony, in the land of bliss.  

Cynthia

Animal Whispering

Hi, I lived most of my growing up years in the bush country of Northern Ontario. Never gave it much thought but after coming across some  topics on animal whispering after watching the movie, (horse whisperer) I became curious on this topic and began doing some research. I believe I am  what one could call an "animal whisperer."

I can sit on a park bench and have squirrels climb up on my shoulders, look in my eyes, and let out a couple chirps, then leave again. Same with birds, raccoons, rabbits, skunks, cats, dogs, and any other variety of domestic animals as well as my friends from the wilds, large or small. Respect them and give them their distance and let them come to you.

If you were to ask me how I do it, I would have to simply shrug my shoulders that I didn't know except that it just a feeling inside. All I know for certain is that they feel as comfortable around me as do I around them.

I know what they are feeling, I am what is termed an empath. I am not certain about reading thoughts per-say but the end result is that I can sense their emotions and feelings which can tell one much about what their thinking. Animals do think, well you know, they reason with emotion and feeling is as closely as I can describe it.

This ability, of being empathic, a sensitive or intuitive is like a two edge sword where it can feel more like a  curse then a gift at times especially around humans.  But I am able to feel the profundity of nature to the nth degree without the dark clouds I sometimes feel in humans. I will sit there incredulously trying to make sense of why mankind is so intent on destroying and hurting other living things 

The essence or the soul of our Our Great Mother,* and all that lives upon here are interconnected, integrated like a web. Why so much turmoil? We are all integrated to the Great Mother each of us as one thread of many threads that weave an infinite web which makes up the fabric of the entire universe. We are the seeds of the mother, all living things are. So for those who have a highly developed sense of empathy and intuition allows us to communicate through feelings actually communicate with animal through an exchange of feeling one another's being within.

Personally I believe in my heart that each and everyone of us are can learn to get in touch with the empath within, to connect with the cosmic web.  It is said in Native American tradition that our purpose for our being here is to be the keepers of nature. The Great Mother's gardeners and keepers of her gardens. No matter however brief our time is here, if a person has nursed one flower or has been kind to their fellow four leggers, fined and winged ones as well as the two leggers. Or one has helped others even if that just be by example, then you have affected another life the lives of many, true kindness and compassion of their hearts, (unconditional love,) will go a long ways to bring back our mothers garden to full bloom once again. That is a manifestation of the heart that will never be forgotten. We are given these wonderful gifts of silent communications with other living beings and opportunity and privilege to do our part in caring for our mother, use them well.

I do believe that this may be the higher purpose we need to follow.I also feel that we are here to help enlighten those who will accept by choice to find their inner thread so that they may join with the dance of life and to weave the living threads of restoring our our Great Mother, our home back to the order it once was. 

I still go for walks and silent speak to the little ones, I love walking in nature, always something new to discover.

Love
Cynthia©

CHRISTMAS FAIRY

Here is a new poem, read it in your best Scottish accent, ...... Beano

While you're a' wirin' in

An' naebody says, "Hey you up there

Could ye go a slug o' gin?

It's nae joke bein' a fairy

The job's beyond belief

You've got to go roon' the wean's beds

And lift their rotten teeth 

But o' a' the joabs a fairy gets

An' I've mentioned only some

The very worst is sitting up a tree

Wi' pine needles up yer bum 

When a' the fairies meet again

By the light of' the silvery moon

Ye can tell the Christmas fairies

They're the wans that canna sit doon

The Christmas tree's a bonny sight

As the firelight softly flickers

But think o' me A'm stuck up here

Wi' needles in ma knickers 

So soon as Christmas time's right by

An' A stop bein' sae full o' cheer

A'll get awa back tae Fairyland

An' A'll see yous a' next year. 

This poem was written by Frances Dunlop 1993

A Christmas Fairy

A Christmas Fairy 
by John Strange Winter

It was getting very near to Christmas time, and all the boys at Miss Ware's school were talking about going home for the holidays.

"I shall go to the Christmas festival," said Bertie Fellows," and my mother will have a party, and my Aunt will give another. Oh! I shall have a splendid time at home."

"My Uncle Bob is going to give me a pair of skates," remarked Harry Wadham.

"My father is going to give me a bicycle," put in George Alderson.

"Will you bring it back to school with you?" asked Harry.

"Oh! yes, if Miss Ware doesn't say no."

"Well, Tom," cried Bertie, "where are you going to spend your holidays?"

"I am going to stay here," answered Tom in a very forlorn voice.

"Here - at school - oh, dear! Why can't you go home?"

"I can't go home to India," answered Tom.

"Nobody said you could. But haven't you any relatives anywhere?"

Tom shook his head. "Only in India," he said sadly.

"Poor fellow! That's hard luck for you. I'll tell you what it is, boys, if I couldn't go home for the holidays, especially at Christmas--I think I would just sit down and die."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't," said Tom. "You would get ever so homesick, but you wouldn't die. You would just get through somehow, and hope something would happen before next year, or that some kind fairy would--"

"There are no fairies nowadays," said Bertie.

"See here, Tom, I'll write and ask my mother to invite you to go home with me for the holidays."

"Will you really?"

"Yes, I will. And if she says yes, we shall have such a splendid time. We live in London, you know, and have lots of parties and fun."

"Perhaps she will say no?" suggested poor little Tom.

"My mother isn't the kind that says no," Bertie declared loudly.

In a few days' time a letter arrived from Bertie's mother. The boy opened it eagerly. It said:

My own dear Bertie:

I am very sorry to tell you that little Alice is ill with scarlet fever. And so you cannot come for your holidays. I would have been glad to have you bring your little friend with you if all had been well here.

Your father and I have decided that the best thing that you can do is to stay at Miss Ware's. We shall send your Christmas present to you as well as we can.

It will not be like coming home, but I am sure you will try to be happy, and make me feel that you are helping me in this sad time.

Dear little Alice is very ill, very ill indeed. Tell Tom that I am sending you a box for both of you, with two of everything. And tell him that it makes me so much happier to know that you will not be alone.

Your own mother.

When Bertie Fellows received this letter, which ended all his Christmas hopes and joys, he hid his face upon his desk and sobbed aloud. The lonely boy from India, who sat next to him, tried to comfort his friend in every way he could think of. He patted his shoulder and whispered many kind words to him.

At last Bertie put the letter into Tom's hands. "Read it," he sobbed.

So then Tom understood the cause of Bertie's grief. "Don't fret over it," he said at last. "It might be worse. Why, your father and mother might be thousands of miles away, like mine are. When Alice is better, you will be able to go home. And it will help your mother if she thinks you are almost as happy as if you could go now."

Soon Miss Ware came to tell Bertie how sorry she was for him.

"After all," said she, smiling down on the two boys, "it is an ill wind that blows nobody good. Poor Tom has been expecting to spend his holidays alone, and now he will have a friend with him--Try to look on the bright side, Bertie, and to remember how much worse it would have been if there had been no boy to stay with you."

"I can't help being disappointed, Miss Ware," said Bertie, his eyes filling with tears.

"No; you would be a strange boy if you were not. But I want you to try to think of your poor mother, and write her as cheerfully as you can."

"Yes," answered Bertie; but his heart was too full to say more.

The last day of the term came, and one by one, or two by two, the boys went away, until only Bertie and Tom were left in the great house. It had never seemed so large to either of them before.

"It's miserable," groaned poor Bertie, as they strolled into the schoolroom. "Just think if we were on our way home now--how different."

"Just think if I had been left here by myself," said Tom.

"Yes," said Bertie, "but you know when one wants to go home he never thinks of the boys that have no home to go to."

The evening passed, and the two boys went to bed. They told stories to each other for a long time before they could go to sleep. That night they dreamed of their homes, and felt very lonely. Yet each tried to be brave, and so another day began.

This was the day before Christmas. Quite early in the morning came the great box of which Bertie's mother had spoken in her letter. Then, just as dinner had come to an end, there was a peal of the bell, and a voice was heard asking for Tom Egerton.

Tom sprang to his feet, and flew to greet a tall, handsome lady, crying, "Aunt Laura! Aunt Laura!"

And Laura explained that she and her husband had arrived in London only the day before. "I was so afraid, Tom," she said, "that we should not get here until Christmas Day was over and that you would be disappointed. So I would not let your mother write you that we were on our way home. You must get your things packed up at once, and go back with me to London. Then uncle and I will give you a splendid time."

For a minute or two Tom's face shone with delight. Then he caught sight of Bertie and turned to his aunt.

"Dear Aunt Laura," he said, "I am very sorry, but I can't go."

"Can't go? and why not?"

"Because I can't go and leave Bertie here all alone," he said stoutly. "When I was going to be alone he wrote and asked his mother to let me go home with him. She could not have either of us because Bertie's sister has scarlet fever. He has to stay here, and he has never been away from home at Christmas time before, and I can't go away and leave him by himself, Aunt Laura."

For a minute Aunt Laura looked at the boy as if she could not believe him. Then she caught him in her arms and kissed him.

"You dear little boy, you shall not leave him. You shall bring him along, and we shall all enjoy ourselves together. Bertie, my boy, you are not very old yet, but I am going to teach you a lesson as well as I can. It is that kindness is never wasted in this world."

And so Bertie and Tom found that there was such a thing as a fairy after all.

The Christmas Fairy

The fairy on the Christmas tree

Is looking quite forlorn.

Her wand is broken and splinted; 

Her wings, all tattered and torn.

Her dress of stiff crepe paper

Was once a bright sky blue, 

But time has bleached it all away.

It's now a much paler hue.

But through it all, each Christmas

She sits in pride of place, 

Gazing down on the proceedings, 

A serene smile on her face.

She sat there when I was growing up, 

And when my son was small, 

And, somehow, I know she'll still be there

When the grandchildren come to call.

She's become a part of my family life, 

Of memories which I hold dear, 

And to me, at least, she heralds in

A Christmas filled with cheer.

And I just can't bear to give her up, 

To heartlessly throw her away.

To me she represents Christmases Past

And she will to my dying day. 

Dawn Ferrett