Whispers of Wind: June 2022 Issue Table of Contents

 

Whispers of wind

stirred echoes

of the past

and scattered thoughts

of a different time and place

through her mind...

~ A. Bergloff

          

In nature, it is the wind that brings in storms, and it is also the wind that clears them away. Wind brings change, and there is beauty in the idea that through the worst storm, the wind will come and usher in the clear blue skies afterwards.

This month, EC is presenting four stories and four poems in the third issue in our series of "weather-works" for 2022 that explore some element of weather - from rain to wind to snow and beyond.

So, please enjoy, and as always dear readers...

Stay enchanted!

- Kate, Amanda, and Kelly

"The East Wind listens for the

ghosts of last year's sadness..."

Windy Season

Eve Morton

Hear your heart stop

in an ocean of silence...

The Queen's Temple

Alexander Etheridge

She could speak with the spirits of
the dead during heavy rains...
The Stone Sister

Betty Stanton

All forest adventures

should respect nature...

Lost and Found

in the Rain
Alicia Hilton

"I am a weather witch, and I would
reward each of you with a boon..."

Seasonal Affliction
Robert Allen Lupton

Elf tears do not suffice...

Climate Change

TS S. Fulk

"Who is with you
in your storm..."

The Shadow Prince

Susan K. H. Newman

We fly together,
up into the light...

Light Bird,

Shadow Bird

Jason P. Burnham

MUSIC

Sharing an enchanting

favorite to accompany this issue:

ALL COPYRIGHT

to the written works in this issue belong to the individual authors.

Enchanted Conversation

Editor-in-Chief ~ Kate Wolford 

Contributing Editor & Artist ~ Amanda Bergloff

Special Projects Writer ~ Kelly Jarvis

Cover Illustration ~ John William Waterhouse

Graphics ~ Amanda Bergloff

If you'd like to see even more stories, poems, and articles in EC, please consider sponsoring us through Patreon. We have amazing rewards and every penny we receive goes to EC.

The Snow Queen's Gifts: A Poem in Seven Stanzas, By Kelly Jarvis

I 

You do not have a Godmother 

To plait your hair with hues of dappled sunshine, 

Or sew a dress of scented roses 

That sings of summer each time you spin  

At the Prince’s Solstice Ball.  

 

II 

No kindly crone will comfort you  

In the creases of the forest 

While you wait for walnuts to fall like tears upon your mother’s grave. 

Their wrinkled shells won’t spill forth gowns threaded thick with autumn’s dying light. 

No wish will soothe your weathered wounds of grief. 

 

III 

An orphan of the Northern Realm,  

You must hitch your sled to ravens’ wings, 

And pay with heated copper pennies for your passage through the sky. 

You must journey, barefoot, through storms of ice, 

Clad in the skin of a beast you have slain, 

Its bloodied fur forcing you forward, 

Its death a sacrifice. 

You may encounter winter witches,  

You may cling to the backs of bears, 

You may let reindeer lick your salty tears  

and kiss you with their soft, pink tongues, 

But, in that barren landscape you will find yourself, alone, 

With nothing but the Northern Lights to guide your wandering way. 

 

IV 

Let your breath become a crystal prayer 

That echoes through the night 

Drawing down the silver light  

of December’s waning moon. 

Follow swarms of milk white bees. 

Find the Queen in frosted blooms, 

Beautiful, terrible, exquisite, cold.  

A glimmer of hope in winter’s white gloom.  

 

V 

If you solve her puzzles, she will gift you a glorious gown 

Stitched from ten-pointed stars and the black velvet of night. 

Shards of frost, clear as glass, become a crown for your hair, 

And snowflakes become slippers that slide over ice. 

Her sleigh, pulled by white chickens, will whisk you away 

Through dark billowing clouds that breathe windstorms of fright, 

Until you arrive where you started, in the Realm of the North, 

At the Ball that rejoices in the return of the light.  

 

VI 

Your beauty will shatter into thousands of pieces 

As you glide past gilded mirrors lining the walls. 

Shards, hard as diamonds, will lodge in the eyes  

Of the Prince, seeking his soulmate at the Solstice Ball. 

In you he will see the spheres of the heavens, 

Hear the songs of creation, 

Feel the romance of death. 

He will wish to possess your enchanted beauty far more 

Than you wish for a Prince or a safe place to rest.  

 

VII 

Strong from your trials, you will leave long before midnight,  

Your slippers of snowflakes still firm on your feet. 

You will laugh as the wind whisks the stars from your dress, 

And your slippers of snowflakes melt back into sleet. 

An orphan of the Northern Realm,  

You will hitch your rags to eastern skies, 

Let the dappled sunrise warm the seeds 

That barely breathe beneath the blackened soil, 

Knowing that soon, 

Snow-quenched roses will bloom, 

Each petal  

A gift from  

The Snow Queen.  

Yule, By Lissa Sloan

 

I am the time that was.

Famine, feast, birth, death.

I am the truth of it.

Endings, beginnings, and passing through

All written in my rings.

I am the time that is.

I burn away

The fever, the failure

Sobs and songs

Warm skin, every blink and breath

Words and deeds

Heartbeats and heartbreaks

Sear blue to white to gold and crimson

Black and white and gray

Mingle in the hearth,

Bitter and sweet

All crumbled into ash.

I am the time that will be.

Seeds sleeping under earth

Waiting for the sun and the dark

The wind and the rain and the ax.

 I will return.

Faery Feast, By Deborah Sage

 

The faery-folk come to sing and sup

Of mulled cider in an acorn cup.

 

Round laden table of birch and pine

They come at dusk to dance and dine

 

On wood-ear stem and chanterelle cap.

Toffee pudding and maple sap,

 

Roasted squash and toasted seed.

Golden pumpkin and honeyed mead.

 

Walnut cake and ginger bread,

Mincemeat scone with hawthorn spread.

 

Savories of rosemary and silver sage;

Succulent sweets from an ancient page.

 

Vanilla, clove and cinnamon bark

Tempt to taste as descends the dark.

 

From mossy branches in pale moonlight,

Spruce and cedar scent the night.

 

For the faery feast on midwinter’s eve,

In a woodland realm by Titania’s leave.

"Candle": Daughter of Snow and Honey, By Sara Cleto

When the bees fell in

Love with the 

Queen of Winter, I was

Born from

Honey, pine, snow, wax,

The sound of bells on a

Cold, clear night

Pierced with stars and wishes

And when I caught fire,

I was her mirror,

Redolent of

Lemon when her 

Fingers tapped,

Peppermint for her mornings,

Salt when tears

Froze on her cheeks,

Roses for her

Dreams of the hive.

We burn, ice and flame,

Through winter, and

In the spring, our

Dreams wake in the 

Honey on your tongue.

Solstice Sleights, By Heather Talty

It must be the festive atmosphere, the excitement of greeting new guests, the array of food and drink on the table, the coats to remove, the carols to sing, the gifts to exchange, unwrap, marvel over, the long year’s worth of events to catch up on, the biting cold to recover from, or any number of things, but no one has noticed. 

I sit at the very center of the table, surrounded on all sides by decadence: pies brimming with fruit and meat, golden potatoes piled high, glasses on glasses of creamy eggnog, spicy wassail, crisp winter wines. The glasses are moving fast among the guests, always replaced by another, and the pies require much attention, the potatoes much arranging, enough that I sit at the center of the table, and yet, no one has noticed. 

Soon, it will be time. Pleasantries exchanged, coats collected, glasses clinked, all the guests will join us at the table to feast. At such time, I too will join. It was easy enough for me to stand close to the oven to collect a layer of dark ash on my feathers, easy enough to sit still and stare straight ahead, easy enough to fool everyone into believing me a roasted goose. Soon though, I will stand, stretch my legs and wings wide, and join the party. Perhaps then, when it is too late to shoo me away, force me into the oven, or rescind my tacit invitation, then someone will notice.