elevatorelevator to your destiny

There’s an up button and a down button but they don’t really mean what they say.

It’s a preliminary test, to assess your state of mind.

(They’ll tell you in secretive tones that up is always better than down, but that’s not at all true.)

Once an elevator decides to let you in, the direction it goes is always personalized for the rider.

But you have to know where you want to go.

If you don’t know, the elevator won’t move.

This part can be intimidating.

Many choose the stairs for fear of ending up in an immobile elevator.

(The trick is: you don’t have to be certain about your destination, you just have to have an idea.

And you can always try again.)

 

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

strange godspray to strange gods and receive strange answers

The strange gods are gods of the in-betweens and the unnoticed things, but they are still gods.

Gods of lost socks and orphaned foxes and 3:52pm.

And they will answer your prayers, if they are in the mood.

Say hello and wish them well and hold out your hands.

They might send you feathers or fountain pens or illustrations ripped from children’s books.

Bits of broken neon signs or rotary telephones or roller skates.

Or they might ignore you entirely.

Or they might respond in ways that are not as tangible as skeleton keys and candy hearts.

And the strange gods don’t particularly care if you believe in them or not.

They don’t particularly believe in you, either.

 

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

validatorvalidator 

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.

bunnybunny 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 springDIY 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.

lonely giraffea 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 treasuremap 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 investigatorsgosling 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.

building blocksbuilding blocks

Our blocks are every shape and every color: pink and green and yellow, sky blue and ocean blue and melancholy blue.

We build them up in colorful stacks.

Turning them from blocks to homes and businesses and temples and museums.

Towns and cities and countries.

We let them live and breathe and grow taller and bigger and more complicated.

Then we knock them down, again.

We shriek and laugh at the noise and the chaos and sometimes we’re just a little bit sad to see them go, favorite towers toppled and hidden corners exposed.

And then we build them up, again.

Higher and better than we built before.

Different but the same.

 

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

life tests judged by silent horseslife tests judged by silent horses

There are no instructions.

Only the box.

Well, the box and the four horses.

But the box holds everything you need and plenty of things you don’t.

To insure that it is indeed a challenge.

All you truly need to concern yourself with is finding the proper combinations.

There are countless possibilities.

Infinite inquiries.

The horses already know the answers to all the unformed questions.

They’re waiting to see if you know the right ones to ask.

 

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