Daggers. Forest daggers.
kings, and lions
The cat surveyed his kingdom. He was on edge. He had overheard his humans talking about March “going out like a lion” because it had “come in like a lamb”. He had no idea what a March was, but he was the only lion allowed in this kingdom.
forgotten vegetation
The autumn shades of forgotten vegetation waited in the shadows while spring worked at turning the world green again. They felt uncertain of their place in the world.
Then a mouse scurried beneath them, happy for the safety of the roof they offered, and they began to understand.
the first day of spring
For the first day of spring, the fairies wove their favourite magics. They coaxed snowdrops from the earth and promised the robins sweet treats if they would sing their happiest songs. A few fairies even the pinched the tails of a dozen squirrels to set them to scolding and fill the forest with the chatter of the season. The cobwebs hidden under eaves and forgotten in garden sheds were hung with dewy baubles and the fairies danced a reel beneath them, just for luck.
perhaps
leaves
the leaf who loved dragons
The storyteller crouched to look at the leaf. “You’re stunning,” she said. “I’d love to tell a story about you. What sort of story do you suppose would suit you best?”
There was a pause before the elderly leaf answered. “Dragons.”
“Dragons!” She had not expected that.
“Yes, dragons. I have lived a long, long life. I was born into the spring and waxed green and healthy in the summer sun. When autumn came, my green faded to yellow and I slipped from my branch. I wished to see a dragon with my newfound freedom, so I traveled the world on a gust of wind. Oh! The things I saw! But before I could see a dragon, the snows covered me deep and held me in white. Now the spring is set to come again and my life is drawing to a close. Still no dragons. It is my one regret.”
The storyteller listened, respectfully silent.
“So give me a story of dragons, if you will, and in my dying dreams I’ll make it true.”
“I will,” she promised, but she could do one better. She plucked the leaf from its icy bed and carried it with her to an old and rotting stump. She placed the leaf inside a cleft where the wind couldn’t catch it. There the leaf could stay still spring, when the salamanders would emerge from their winter places and maybe, just maybe, be mistaken for a dragon.
copyright Jennifer Shelby
Grumpiness
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Legends of spring
hopeful flora
Jennifer Shelby 