Fairy Activity Escalates

 Reports of fairy activity continued to flare in and around the city throughout the spring and early summer. While some city leaders privately acknowledge unexplained events, none is willing to go public with their suspicions, but this reporter remains convinced the fairy activity will continue unabated. Research has shown fairies are egotistical beings who seek attention both good and bad. Once an infestation takes hold, little can be done.

Thus far, the Stoughton Press has confirmed three cases of fairy mischief.  First, a stroller temporarily abandoned on Main Street, was recovered overflowing with violets and dandelions. Next, a kitten escaped her owner only to return with her coat covered in what has been determined to be the pollen from a distant relative of the plum tree, one never seen before. In response, botanists are scouring the area to find the tree.  Finally, and most disturbing to this reporter, the fairies have once again made contact. 

Arriving at the office early on the morning of August 1^st, I was dismayed to find the tattered remains of the previous day’s donuts next to my desk. While donuts formerly drew me like catnip, they no longer tantalize. Something I attribute to Oton’s gluttonous habits. The donuts had to go, but as I reached for the box, my fingers stiffened. Tiny footprints swirled through the powdered sugar and orbited the colorful sprinkles. Too tiny for troll prints, it could mean only one thing. Fairies had invaded the office.  With growing unease, I followed the footprints to my laptop and reached for my mouse. I was unsurprised to find it smeared with tiny, chocolate hand prints.

Be at the portal tree when the summer fades into autumn. Come alone if you want to learn the truth.

The words stared out at me, daring me to close the document, but I couldn’t do it. My reporter senses floated to the surface although my inner child cowered in a hidden corner. I pressed print and locked the office door before I began researching the autumnal equinox, a mere 53 days away. Exhaustive research failed to uncover reliable references to any tree that could be termed a portal, but I have alternative resources.

After parking my car behind a stand of sumac, I started down the path. Upon rounding the first bend, my attention fell on strange mushrooms. With a hobbyist’s knowledge of the woods, I had never seen anything like them. In various forms and even more colors, they seemed to glow from within, but as I approached, the light faded. Luckily, I was able to snap these photos before they went dark.

The winking mushrooms grew sparse then dwindled away before I entered the village. The trolls remain cautious, but they have grown comfortable in my presence although I feel like a lumbering giant among the ankle high trolls. I located Oton and pulled him away. Being troll, Oton has no interest in human scribbles so I read the message to him. His eyes soared across the valley. “You know where it is, don’t you.” He looked over his shoulder. “Yes, but it’s not my secret to share.” I followed his gaze to the even smaller trolless they call Leaf. “Will she tell me?” Oton shrugged, but Leaf dipped her chin and began walking. I followed her through the night, her long auburn hair swaying with each step. I knew we were going in circles, but the tiny trolless never looked back until we skirted an abandoned farmhouse. Finally, Leaf stopped and pointed to a massive tree. “You can’t tell anyone. It’s not safe.” A shiver slithered up my spine. “I’m not sure I can find it again,” I said. “You will, when the time comes. The fairies will make certain you find your way.”

While this reporter prepares to embark on a career making—or breaking—assignment city residents are advised to remain calm as the fairies have shown no sign of real aggression, but things could get interesting at 3:22am on Wednesday, September 23^rd. 

Originally appeared in the Fall edition of the Stoughton Press

Betrayal

Lovely but TOXIC!

I'm currently suffering a period of forced relaxation. I have so many projects beckoning, calling out for  my attention, but I'm not getting to any of them. In fact, this post is my way of trying to focus if only for a few minutes. 

One week ago, I was working on the land my family is converting to a songbird and pollinator haven. It's a lot of work to free farm land, but it was something my father started in the mid 1980's. He's gone now, but we continue his quest. The work is hands-on, get-in-there and get-dirty-type-of-stuff, and with the temperatures expected to top 90 with humidity to match, I was dumb--so dumb. I wore shorts. 

There's a non-native plant that originated in Eurasia that is taking over  the rolling hills of southwestern Wisconsin, all of Wisconsin in fact. This plant grows in two stages. Year one, it's relatively small and innocent looking. But year two, it soars to five feet and sprouts a showy head of flowers with hundreds of seeds. 

Wild parsnip. 

I was well aware that it is a poisonous plant, and I was also aware that it was growing on the land, but I thought it was mostly contained in a well defined area as it has been for the last few years. Not so much anymore. It was everywhere. But I was dumb. I didn't understand how wicked this stuff is, but I know now.

Wild parsnip leaves, stems and flowers are all oily and if that oil gets on your skin, you feel nothing, but add UV light, the stuff that causes sunburns even on cloudy days, you get instant sunburn quickly followed by second degree burns. Second degree burns involve the destruction of the skin layer. The oil literally explodes skin cells when mixed with light! 

Not my legs, but they look similar.

I tried to avoid it, but based on the burn pattern on my legs, I apparently knelt in a patch. The burn showed up the next morning. The next morning, I could barely walk. A trip to the doctor and I'm on oral steroids and chronically checking for signs of infection. As the blisters pop, the pain is exquisite. My legs are swathed in leggings in an attempt to provide a second skin to my traumatized legs. It's nearly impossible to focus. 

I'll get better. Eventually. But it occurred to me that this is a sign. Book three, the final chapters in the Legends of the Aurora trilogy, centers around an amazing garden, a Primordial Garden tended by an Elemental. Here's where the sign comes in. The working title of book three is Garden of Betrayal. While this garden is sublime, it hides infinite traps. Seems like a perfect place to plant a vicious wild parsnip. So while I may morph the plant into some other form, the horrific effects of this torture will make an appearance in the Garden of Betrayal. 

I will have my revenge through words.

Hard Truths

Sila, a minor, albeit scrumptious character.

There are numerous misunderstanding in the Legends of the Aurora

Sarcasm is common among the trolls

Whether Human, Fairy, or Troll, my characters see the world from a unique vantage point

Dragons, so misunderstood yet so beloved