flax-golden

validator 

People love the Validator.

They swear by it and whenever it’s broken they complain, loudly and widely.

The problem with the Validator is that it does not discriminate.

It’s just a post, really, with big letters that spell VALIDATOR and a stamping bit on top for validations.

And it’ll validate anything.

Your deepest fears or your unfounded biases or your parking.

It doesn’t care, or rather, it gives the appearance of not caring.

It does break a lot.

Some people whisper that the Validator breaks itself on purpose.

Ashamed of its own apathy.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

bunny without a hop

Lost your hop! the other bunnies say and they laugh at the joke but he doesn’t find it amusing.

He misses his hop and he doesn’t know how to get it back but when he tries to explain the other bunnies don’t understand.

They tell him to cheer up, to just get up and hop.

He tells them he doesn’t remember how.

The other bunnies leave him alone after that.

The bunny sits quietly and watches the grass and waits for the flowers.

Flowers usually make him feel better.

And then maybe his hop will come back, even though he cannot see the point in hopping at the moment.

The hop usually comes back, eventually.

But he does not know when eventually will be so he waits and watches and tries to remember what hopping feels like.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

DIY spring

We have to have Spring now, my littlest sister declares.

This declaration is followed by a watering can emptying over my head.

I manage to save my book from liquid annihilation, barely.

April showers to bring the May flowers! she explains before I can ask about the details of this do-it-yourself Spring.

But she doesn’t have flowers, she takes my book away and hands me bunch of fuzz-tipped pussy willows instead.

Then she gives me a paper parasol.

Oh! I should have given you this before the showers, she says, frowning and turning the empty watering can upside down and letting the last drops fall on the grass.

I’m not sure painted paper works for April showers, I tell her, and the frown goes full-blown Grumpy Cat.

We’re doing Spring wrong! she wails, flopping down on the soggy grass next to me.

It takes awhile, but I manage to convince her that we’re doing Spring just fine because there’s no snow, and we gather our parasols and pussy willows and head off in search of proper flowers and a towel to dry my hair.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

a lonely giraffe spun into myth

They say the silver giraffe is nocturnal but that’s not true.

He suffers from insomnia.

They say that he will visit you if you leave an apricot out as an offering on a night with a full moon but that’s not true either.

The silver giraffe wanders aimlessly down alleyways and through backyards and parking lots at mid-day or midnight, regardless of moon phase.

He is awfully fond of apricots, that bit is true-ish.

Sometimes he is difficult to see, because he is shiny and reflective and walks very quietly.

They say if you find him he will heal your broken heart and that’s not true true though he often wishes it was.

But if you find him and you ask he will sit with you and listen to your secret sorrows and never tell a soul even if you don’t have an apricot for him. He just appreciates the company.

And you might feel better anyway.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

map without treasure

The map, they said when they sold it to us, was found tucked in the threadbare jacket of a skeleton in a jewel-strewn cave but the general consensus amongst the crew is that this is likely an exaggeration if not an outright lie because it is quite a large map, too large to be tucked anywhere. When we unroll it for consultation we spread it out on beds or on the deck because it takes up too much room on the tables.

At first we could not make heads or tails of it as the compass inscribed in the corner has directions that do not correlate with familiar east or west, and the coastlines and the islands seem to change with the wind direction or on unspoken whims.

There are many places marked with X’s or circles but none are clearly identified as treasure. None of them are clearly identified at all, most of the text on the map is written in obscure languages or too faded to read.

Our navigator makes little checkmarks next to places as we visit them. Sometimes he draws little pictures of the things we found there or transcribes recipes for native pastries. To mark the quieter locations he paints tiny representations of their particular sunrises.

The map is becoming more and more covered in ink and history and coffee stains and still there is no treasure to be found.

The talking violet crab we picked up on that island with the beach covered in keys likes to say that perhaps the journey itself is the treasure but he also tells stories about feathered sea monsters, so no one pays him much heed.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

gosling investigators

If you have lost something precious we will find it!

If you miss it and you need to have it returned to you.

Or if you never had it but have always always wanted it.

Even if you aren’t sure what it is, exactly.

We will find it!

We will investigate and discover and uncover until we locate the lost things and the hidden things.

We will search high and low but mostly low.

Under rocks and between blades of grass and at the bottom of your heart.

We will find it! We will find it!

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.