flax-golden

the metal horses

Please do not feed the metal horses. No apples or grass. No nuts or bolts or bits of string.

They grow overly fond of people who feed them.

They will follow you home and it can be somewhat… difficult to get them to leave.

They are fiercely loyal, but that can be something of an inconvenience.

They will insist on sleeping at the foot of your bed.

They will nibble on your lawn or your electrical wiring or the hubcaps of your car.

And of course, they will rust if they get left out in the rain, though they do so love the rain.

It is best to entrust their care to the professionals, no matter how sweetly they beg.

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

where the sidewalk doesn’t end

Would you walk me home?

Now, while there is still light? Before the afternoon turns to dusk? The light is fading quickly, so I’ll need an answer soon.

Would you walk me home along that line where autumn brushes against winter, and golden leaves melt into evergreen?

Where the sidewalk doesn’t end.

Where gloves do not require fingers to keep hands warm. (And you may hold my hand if you would like.)

It is a quiet kind of walk in this light, at this time.

I would appreciate the company.

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

angel meditation

Please do not disturb the angels in the garden.

You will find them sitting in the quiet corners.

Contemplating.

Listening to the world as it grows.

Most weekdays from late morning to mid-afternoon.

You may sit and watch them, if you wish.

Thinking your own thoughts alongside.

Please don’t take it personally if the angels do not notice you.

They get lost in their thoughts quite easily.

Angel thoughts are heavier than you might suppose.

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

november pumpkins

It is a sad thing to be a pumpkin after Hallowe’en.

No more light inside.

No more chasing away evil spirits.

No more revelry.

Only the crunch of leaves in fading light and the growing chill in the autumn air.

October past and gone.

Watching fallen comrades smashed to pieces, rotting on the ground.

Unable to close your eyes or look away.

It is a sad thing to be a pumpkin in November.

All they want you for is pie.

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

wishing

There isn’t any water left in the well. There was, once, a long time ago. There was probably a bucket, too, but now there is only a rope.

Wells do go dry sometimes.

Can you make wishes in an empty well? Well, I’m certain you can make them, but can they be granted by bucketless emptiness?

Or does it need the water?

What water once was there is now buried in years of accumulated coins. Layers and layers of old wishes.

I suppose there can be too many wishes, even for a wishing well.

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

doll parts

A limb goes first. The joint will come loose, or the threads will weaken and snap. Arms and legs are easily lost.

Torsos are fragile things. Once the limbs are gone the torso will soon follow.

The heads last longer. The heads remain for quite some time.

Sometimes the eyes will linger.

In other cases the eyes will tire of staring and roll quietly away.

It is difficult to pinpoint the moment when it is no longer a doll.

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