flax-golden tales: fragile vessels with invisible contents

 

fragile vessels with invisible contents

It wasn’t a very difficult technique to learn, though it took a lot of practice. And also some trial and error and a very soapy sofa before I figured out that practicing outside made for easier failure cleanup.

There’s a trick to it, beyond getting the size right or launching them so the wind helps with the carrying.

I should have realized it sooner, but it’s almost counterintuitive.

You would think that the contents would have to be lighter than the bubble by necessity, but that’s not the way it works.

The vessels are fragile, but the wishes inside them need to be strong.

Strong wishes are heavy things.

But the stronger the wish, the longer they’ll stay afloat. Halfhearted, wistful wishes pop almost immediately.

A heavy wish, properly supported and contained, can float long enough to come true.

 

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

flax-golden tales: the magic number

the magic number

Math has never been my strong suit, but I do love numbers individually when they don’t require addition or subtraction or complex calculations. When they can just be what they are and not change.

When I learned them in school I gave them all personalities. 4 was the peacemaker. 6 had an attitude problem.

3 was always my favorite.

Partially because of the shape, the way it looks like a backwards E, but mostly for the things it evokes.

Trios of bears and little pigs and Shakespearean witches.

Third-time charms and trilogies and trinities and past, present, future.

It is the magic number, after all.

 

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

flax-golden tales: sunken ships and siren songs

sunken ships & siren songs

They say the sea is filled with nothing but claw-snapping creatures and danger. That it should be avoided at all costs, that it is something to fear.

I can’t be certain, but I think they’re wrong. I have glimpsed gardens of coral through rippling waves, explored stately sunken ships in half-remembered dreams with seaweed tangled in my hair.

Even when I’m awake I hear the siren songs that no one else can discern, their ears too full of air to interpret the water sounds.

They tease me when I try to explain. Joke that my long-dead mother must have been a mermaid. Sometimes I wonder if it’s true.

I sit alone on the forbidden shore, drowning my longing in salt-tinged wine and listening to the songs in the waves as they fall against the rocks, begging me to come home.

Wishing I could drink myself to the bottom of the sea where I belong.

 

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

flax-golden tales: precarious

precarious

There are more birds who cannot fly than you might expect. And those who simply choose not to, for their own personal reasons.

Grounded by choice or broken wings or lousy magnetoception.

Though only occasionally is such a phenomena based on fear of heights.

So many flightless birds still climb to tops of buildings or trees, sit happily on electrical wires or water towers.

The perches are sometimes precarious.

But they always have the best views.

And even broken-wing birds are able to see for miles.

Observing astounding sights in feather-ruffling breezes.

Closer to the clouds.

 

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

flax-golden tales: hotel story

hotel story

It used to be the kind of place that bubbled with stories to the point of overflowing.

Guests could hardly keep up with the gossip.

Every night another happening.

Another scandal.

The things the walls in Room 419 might say if they could talk.

(The walls on the fourth floor are mute, a quality coveted by certain guests, though the light fixtures have been known to whisper.)

But that was back in the day, or the night, rather, it was always more story-filled at night.

Most of the rooms are empty now.

Storyless.

Waiting impatiently for new ones.

 

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

flax-golden tales: alternate paths

alternate paths

It’s all about choices, I figured that out pretty early on while a lot of other people just stood there, overwhelmed by the first set of options.

Better to keep moving, making any choice is more productive than standing still.

I just hit another door-or-stairs point. The stairs look difficult, but the door is locked and while I have a number of keys, it would take time to try them all and I might not have acquired the right one yet, though I usually have the right key already if it is, in fact, the right door to take.

I think I’ll go with the stairs this time, since they’re more daunting and less stable, that’s usually a sign of something more rewarding to come.

There are always choices, straight ahead or up or down or sideways or under or over, locks and keys and windows and doors, even if they’re hard to see.

No dead ends, and never any going back.

Not that you can’t. Door or stairs not taken are usually still there, and sometimes different paths lead to second chance choices to be made over again.

But they won’t be the same.

 

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