flax-golden

overgrown

I tried cutting them back at first. I broke three pairs of garden shears before I gave up. I didn’t even know I had three pairs of garden shears.

Every vine that I cut grew back, sometimes splitting into two or three or more, curling around chairs and tables and up the walls. Leaves sprouted back instantly, bigger and brighter and greener than the ones I’d managed to rip off.

The ones near the floor are too thick to cut with anything. The thinner ones are so high now that I can’t reach them, not even standing on what’s left of the couch.

By last night I couldn’t find the door.

This afternoon the electricity went out.

At the rate they’re growing, I’m guessing the skylight will be covered before dark.

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

tiny love letter

You can say anything with a Post-It.

I’m not entirely sure why that is.

Maybe the friendliness of the squares makes it easier. A square is nicely compact and less intimidating than a full page.

And they come in cheerful colors. Non-white paper is kind of inherently festive.

Or maybe paper that sticks feels more important than paper that can blow away.

(Though you can move them, if you need to put them somewhere else.)

They might not be as lasting as words carved in stone, but Post-It thoughts will stay.

For awhile, at least.

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

restoration

My dad collects and restores these vintage machines, like a hobby. Maybe machine is the wrong word, they’re like, weird geeky contraptions you find outside supermarkets and at tourist attractions, gumball machines and those ones that squash pennies into miniature pictures of historical landmarks or whatever.

I can never tell what he does to change them, even though I’ve sat and watched him dismantle dozens of the things and then, um, remantle them again. He doesn’t add anything, not that I’ve seen.

But they’re all different once they’re working again. One of the gumball machines gives solid gold gumballs now. They’re rainbow at the top in the fishbowl-looking part, but the one that drops down after you put in your quarter is always solid, unchewable gold.

Gold gumballs I can deal with, but the latest penny-squashing thing takes your nice, normal penny and squashes it down into a printed copper oval that describes how you’re going to die.

I thought it was a joke until last week. Now I’m worried.

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

poppets

You don’t get to choose your poppet. Some people like to say your poppet chooses you, but that’s silly. They’re just dolls, after all.

Matches between poppet and person are made by chance, not choice. You receive the poppet that you’re meant to have, because there are no other options.

Poppets are often returned. This is not what I expected, unsatisfied poppet recipients complain before they depart again, poppet-less.

But most are accepted gratefully, brought to their respective new homes and treated kindly. Given places to sit and kept away from dogs.

Happy poppets are the most effective.

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

broken-wing butterfly

I worry hope will crush me, the way love has so many times before.

Are they so different, hope and love? O & E in the same place, half of the other in each word.

Both swimming in unknowns.

I’ve been through the big changes. These ones should seem easier in comparison, I should be more prepared, but they don’t and I’m not.

Sometimes I feel like a broken-wing butterfly, clinging to a window screen.

Afraid to let go. Afraid to stay.

Wondering how much wing is enough to fly.

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

the happiness store

The Happiness Store does not have a permanent location. It travels from place to place on wheels, like an extremely large ice cream truck.

(Ice cream is not available at The Happiness Store.)

When it arrives, it sets itself down and with the wheels folded up into its foundation it appears as steady and solid as any brick and mortar store, though it is one that can and will depart at any time.

The thing that sometimes catches customers by surprise is that everything inside the store is wrapped. The contents of the shelves and displays are meticulously covered in paper or sealed in opaque bags.

Nothing may be opened until it has been paid for.

There are no refunds or exchanges, and nothing ever goes on sale.

But free samples are available (one per customer), in tiny boxes tied with ribbon.

Though the management recommends that such samples be passed along to others, to those who are unable to visit The Happiness Store themselves.

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