Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!
Bram Stoker, Irish Author
Tag: night
Faerie Paths — Night
Athwart the star-lit midnight sky
Luminous fleecy clouds drift by,
As the mysterious, pallid moon
Sinks in the waveless still lagoon.
Now that the queen of night is dead,
The starry commonwealth o’erhead
(Softer and fairer than gaudy day)
Sheds lustrous light from the Milky Way;
While the Dog-star gleams, and the Sisters Seven,
Float tremulously in the misty heaven.
Faintly, afar the horse-bells ring;
Myriads of wakened crickets sing;
And the spirit voices of the night
Sing snatches of fairy music bright,
Old-world melodies – lang syne sung –
Recalling days when the heart was young,
Whose wonderful cadences fall and rise,
As the wind in the casuarina sighs;
And the world seems ‘gulfed, this summer night,
In a flood of delicious, dreamy light.
~Harry Breaker Morant
The Faeries in My Back Yard
Last night I stood on my back deck in the dark of night and watched the fireflies dance in the woods.
Of course, you and I know they weren’t fireflies.
They were, of course, faeries.
This is the time of year they cross the bridge of time and float into our world to gather pollen from the night flowers and water from dawn’s dew drops. They fly around between the summer and autumnal equinox with their little buckets, gathering samples of the soil from deep in the woods and remnants of crops from the fields to take back home.
They stay just out of sight so humans can’t see them. Yes, they could take a chance on those who believe, but faeries don’t really take chances. Why bother with beings who just might swat them before thinking?
I love watching their random movements, their signals to each other as they play through twilight into the darkest of night. I can’t quite decipher their language, but sometimes it’s as if I hear their whispers and laughter in the distance; as if I can sense their pure joy of life.
Oh, I’ve heard all sorts of things about faeries/fairies/fae. They love sparkly things, wildflowers and plants, and music. They love honey cake, milk, nectar, and sweet butter. Fairies have an aversion to iron, and are quick to do you a favor, yet even quicker to demand payment for it.
I’ve never heard of anyone EVER seeing a faerie. Ever. They are myth, they are made up, they are born from our imagination and desire to create something fresh, free, and eternal.
But those naysayers have never looked off my deck into the warmth of a summer evening that slowly, ever so slowly, turns into a velvet black backdrop. They have never felt the electricity in the air of a knowledge and way of life that has been since the beginning of time and will continue long after we are dust.
They will never see, for they will never believe.
Faerie Paths — Nights
I love the silent hour of night,
For blissful dreams may then arise,
Revealing to my charmed sight
What may not bless my waking eyes.
― Best Poems of the Brontë Sisters
Faerie Paths — Blue Night
It was a marvelous night, the sort of night one only experiences
when one is young. The sky was so bright and there were so many
stars that, gazing upward, one couldn’t help but wondering how so many
whimsical, wicked people could live under such a sky. This too is a
question that would only occur to the young, to the very young; but
may God make you wonder like that as often as possible!
~ Dostoevsky, White Nights
Humoring the Goddess 