flax-golden

letters & measures

When they finally got inside the house, everything was in jars and nothing was labeled. Though it is difficult to say whether or not labels would have been any help. What does one label a jar full of rulers? The jar is clear glass, the contents are as plain as day. Would a label really bring all that much clarity as to why, precisely, those rulers were put in that particular jar?

Thousands of jars, meticulously organized in an indeterminable, label-less system. It must have taken years.

Those charged with dividing the contents were at a loss.

After much debate, it seemed easier to leave things in their respective jars.

Everything in its proper place.

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

swinging in snow

The school has been closed for years. They say that they’re going to turn it into condos eventually but there’s always one thing or another holding that up.

The playground is still there. It’s closed, but all of the equipment was left trapped in the concrete. The jungle gym. The line of swings.

Last night I walked by on my way home from work, just past sunset when everything was getting dim despite the winter white.

And as I passed by the swings they started to sway, deliberately, one by one along the line until they were all swinging, back and forth.

Chains squeaking in the snow-quiet as invisible children swung ever higher.

It would have been frightening if it hadn’t looked like such fun.

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

objects in space

Only the objects remain. A forgotten suitcase. An empty chair.

Waiting for new stories to add to their old ones.

The old stories are gone. Slipped away through time and space. Replaced with price tags and rarely removed dust.

But you can hear them, if you listen quietly enough.

Stories are never truly gone. They just become more difficult to hear.

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

coffeeshop magic

I don’t have the time to devote to circles or covens. I have to fit things in when and where I can, in stolen moments and cups of coffee.

Stirring clockwise to conjure.

Widdershins to banish.

There’s never enough time, and rarely enough caffeine, but I make do with what I have. Besides, cauldrons and pointy hats are overrated.

Sometimes I see other customers practicing. Pouring their cream and sugar with studied intent. Stirring with purpose.

I add an extra spoonful of sugar to my own coffee for them, to make all of our enchantments sweeter.

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

property feature

The monster came with the house.

The realtor said they could get estimates from removal services but then there was some sort of confusion with determining ownership because of the property lines, because it spends so much time underground. And there was so much paperwork and expense involved that we figured it really wasn’t worth the effort and decided to just let it stay.

We liked the house too much to give it up over something as minor as a yard monster. Besides, it doesn’t really bother anyone. It stays in the yard. The first summer it accidentally destroyed the azaleas but I didn’t care for the azaleas anyway.

The monster prefers the winter. It likes the snow.

I’m not sure who gave it the scarf, but it seems to like that, too.

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

zen snow

Do not scowl to see the snow fall.

Do not fret that it is so cold that you cannot feel your toes.

Do not complain that the weather is frightful.

The weather is only weather. It will change as it always changes.

Accept it as it comes with open arms. Remember how to look at such things with wonder.

Be joyous. No matter what the weather.

Be joyous, for the snow is cold and soft and sugar-sweet.

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