Three Twisted Knots

Not all those who wander are lost.

There are uncountable ways to see Faerie. Each of us, when (or if) we reach Faerie, will see it in our own way and from our own perspective. Tonight, I am seeing Faerie beneath a full moon. I think when Faerie is lit only by moonlight, you can see a lot more of the glimmerings …

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Some of you know that my Chamberlain, Brán, has an on-again, off-again love affair with photography. He just got a fancy new camera, and of course he had to try it out on me eventually. He started, as he often does, in the Sacred Grove; it’s his favourite place to take pictures, he says, because …

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Be the change you want to see. Folks are always saying that. I know I’ve mentioned this Faire has had me more in disguise than in me-guise (that’s a word now), and I’m sure no-one reading this little blog remembers way back in those strange days after Jasper Cove fell and before the Wylds rose, …

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We used to sayThat come the dayWe’d all be making songsOr finding better wordsThese ideas never lasted long The way is upAlong the roadThe air is growing thinToo many friends who triedWere blown off this mountain with the wind Meet on the ledgeWe’re gonna meet on the ledgeWhen my time is up I’m gonna see …

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I was wandering again. Aside from the Big Events, this year, I travelled the Great Faire mostly in one disguise or another. It was fun, and somewhat easier, as I was not in a mind to deal with other beings overmuch, and frankly, there are plenty of other Fae Queens at the Faire: my celebrity …

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First Voice: To wear this world of paper, you must firstImagine how the texture fits your form.It wrinkles there, and here’s a dash of red,and over there the shadow of a path. Second Voice: It’s not enough to be a paper doll;No, you must learn to breathe in two, not threeDimensions: forget depth, and think …

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Carl Sandburg wrote those words. Sandburg as a poet wasn’t studied overmuch when I was at uni doing my literature Master’s, but I had read some of his things in an independent study. He was on the short list of poets I wanted to cover in my PhD work, partly because, when I looked in …

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Every day’s the same. I get out of my beautiful bed with all the fluffy pillows. I attend to my personal toilette. I put on the single dress in the wardrobe. I make my way up to the tower roof to eat the breakfast that will be waiting on the table there. And then, I go …

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I miss my Gran. Of all the people in my (adoptive) English/Welsh family, it’s her I’d really like to talk to. Because she’s the one who knows how it all happened, I’m sure of it. She handled the deal with the Sidhe, she arranged the “private” adoption for my London parents. And that means she might know …

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I awoke to the sound of water. The environment, and the fact that I wasn’t really comfortable inside my body gave me the clue that this might be a dream. I stretched. Nothing felt right. I mean, it felt like my body. But everything else was wrong. And… what was I wearing? At least the chair was …

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