Archive for writing

Tiny Bells

Posted in Story Time, Wonder, Writings with tags , on August 16, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

10030107

The window shashes have been tightly shut for several days, the glass panes covered with bits of olde sheet music to keep a secret within …

Nose prints from tiny faces pressed against the glass, paws pressed flat, bitty hands cupped trying to sneak a peek … Smudges of evidence on the panes.

Tiny footprints forming lines throughout the gardens, all seem to end in a gathering outside … just below the window. Further evidence that whispers of what is happening inside is spreading from garden to garden.

All are watching. All await in wonder.

Early mornings, if you are awake with the dawn you might hear the soft tinkling of tiny silver bells as the faeries make their way from the bottom of the gardens to work within the studios walls. It is late into the night before they make their way back home to gather a wink of sleep … & to dream of what is about to happen.

Something is stirring. Something wonderful.

Posted in thoughts, Words, Writings with tags , , on August 8, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

mary_pickford

I had a dream that I was lost in a library; it had spiral staircases and tiny ladders with goblins wearing spectacles, they were dusting the highest shelves. I sat in a big red velvet armchair reading every book that I could find about myths and tales, until the guard told me that it was closing time,

I am not a believer in hope but it sometimes comes in wisps and strays, I am going to begin a pebble jar, and maybe one day it will become full of mermaid tear pebbles.

I want to see Paris lit up at night time, sit with my sketchbook in the Mus

Visit Glastonbury with its pretty bookshops, and abbey and gardens, make my hair the colour of the palest moons, and my best friend and I will travel to London in September and dress as Viking girls for the band, and look around art universities. I want to take the bus to Portobello road and buy vintage black lace and antique books, we can hide our hearts for just one day, and tomorrow when the sun wakes up I will go for a walk with my camera on the lonely five a m roads.

Writing Pages

Posted in Words, Writings with tags , , on February 23, 2009 by moragglimmerwitch

The other night, when it was so warm, I started a private journal. I sat by candlelight trying to conserve energy and started filling the pages of one of the many blank journals that fills my bedside table. It’s just a plain journal with its dark blue cover, nothing with a golden binding or a beautifully designed cover. I had hoped to find something beautiful for the words, but then I suppose the words inside are what matter. As in all things, the real beauty is not on the surface but in this case, within the pages.