by Frances Hodgson Burnett
I liked it overall.
Plot Spoilers below
I liked it overall.
Plot Spoilers below
Day 24: Feb 25
The flowers shone in the sun. Dewdrops sparkled, ethereal rainbows glittering on the edge of leaf and stem. A fat, fuzzy bumblebee sipped from the petals, momentarily striped in like a rainbow.
I have renewed these in lieu of the Refugee Ban in the USA. Inspired by the-cassandra-project and their Every Day Challenge, I am writing every day to raise money for the Urban Justice Center. You can donate here or please spread the word. Thank you.
The tiniest owl fluffed up his wings. No need, of course, but he liked the sensation of feeling larger. His bigger nestnibs clicked their beaks in amusement at him. The littlest owl ignored them. He may be nearly normal, but he would try hard to pass as completely normal around the other owls. Flexing his feathers, he knew he would be safer that way. It was always safer to hide differences when they weren’t too obvious. Wasn’t it?
Written: 1 June 2016
Words: 78 words
Inspired: an image in my head + a fanfic I wrote + stuff I’m working through
Golden leaves glided across the gurgling stream. Tickling through a riverbed of blue and purple pebbles, it sucked gently on the grassy turf at its shore. One leaf drifted close to the grass; a tiny claw snap it up by its stem. Snipping it vigorously, the blue luminous crab decided it would do. It’s color would hide her nest and its crinkly, papery body would not dissolve as quickly in water. Yes, the crab nodded. It was perfect.
Written: 29 May 2016
Inspired: song and Eastern USA coast (horseshoe crabs?)
This was an old Christmas present from my mom that I re-found at the beginning of the year. It’s a lovely old book, probably from a used book store. There’s a handwritten note in it dated to June 1961. And while I have other books with a lot of the same stories, there’s something adorable about this one so I’m going through reading all them.
It begins with a cute family of storks.
Father stork might be a mite conceited for he decides that “‘I daresay they think I have orders to stand there—it looks smart!’ and so he remained standing on one leg” (41).
The little boys are cruel, even if unintentionally as they sing: “‘The first of your chicks shall be struck through the breast / The second shall hang and the third shall burn'” (41).Who sings about babies being cut and burned and hanged? I’m glad at least one boy (Peter) isn’t taking part and isn’t a jerk.
No, you’ll be fine (to the little storks). “‘Hark! what are the boys singing? ‘ said the little storks; ‘they say we are to be hanged and burnt!'” (41). Aw, poor little storks; they’re scared: “‘But we are so frightened,’ said the young ones, burying their heads in the nest” (42).
Is this story about baby storks being scared by cruel lyrics?
BRIGHT AUTUMN LEAVES glowed on the bottom of the horizon. Like the remnants of embers in a fire, the dawn shone through the bushy lattice of pines and firs and birch. The deer watched the scene calmly, nibbling on breakfast.
BRIGHT AUTUMN LEAVES glowed on the bottom of the horizon. Like the remnants of embers in a fire, the dawn shone through the bushy lattice of pines and firs and birch. Azana smiled at the sight, invigorated and interested to explore the unknown.
A quiet snore from the bed made her chuckle. Creeping across the floor, she nudged her husband in the shoulder.
“Pssht. Alion. Wake up.”
Written: 30 March 2016
Words: 40 / 67
Inspired: morning + seeing deer outside recently / a story after Romance of Three Jewels
A/N: I couldn’t decide which one I liked, so have both. This was supposed to post at 7 am.
ATU 402 The Animal Bride
Yep. This was a concise little story.
A father will give his house to whichever of his sons spins the finest thread. The third foolish son “took the flax and ran with the wind, back and forth and everywhere imaginable, through forests and swamps, until at last he found himself sinking into the mud” (101).
A toad gets him out and spins his flax on the condition he tell everyone he’s going to get married. Her thread is the best and the third son inherits the house, after which the toad, now a beautiful woman, arrives to get married. As she tells him “‘I was put under a spell by an evil witch and the curse could only be lifted when a young man needed my help'” (101). That’s a unique condition, but why does she have to marry him? Why would she want to?
GREEN SPROUTED FROM every woody nook and crack in the old elm. Fluffy chartreuse moss dangled from a sunny corner of its trunk; silky emerald ferns burst like stars atop roots that popped out of the ground. Birdsong crowned its branches, goldfinches and flycatchers fluttering among the young foliage in flashes of yellow and silver. All the except the tiniest goldfinch.
She remained in the nest, buried in the twigs and feathers that had kept her warm as an egg. Unlike her nestlings, she had been born with a peculiar green mark that stretched from her beak down her back to her tail. In the right light, it was hardly noticeable, simply an olive streak. But in the full spring sunshine…
Wings fluttering in self-conscious shame, the little goldfinch remembered the last time she had ventured out with her nestlings. The golden-white light had changed her streak into a shamrock shade so brilliant the other birds had laughed at her. So she had decided it was better to stay away. Little did she know what her mark signified and the brave deeds she would do as a result.
Written: 17 March 2016
Inspired: St. Patrick’s Day
ATU 760*** Salvation in the Cradle / The Unquiet Grave (I don’t see why the book lists one)
I feel like there should be a different tale type for this story.
Oh, I loved this one. But it was so sad! Well, okay, not tragic sad, but disappointing.
A snake has a treasure that a man, if he follows certain instructions, will obtain. He doesn’t because he wants to the treasure all to himself. He isn’t able to follow the instruction and gets no treasure. We learn anything about the snake – how she became enchanted or why she had hidden treasure.
A LUNAR MOTH landed on a half-eaten apple. The once taut red skin puckered around a gigantic bite mark, a wrinkled yellow smile to match the leaves overhead. Etched in silvery blue from the gibbous moon, the autumnal wings of the branches whispered their dying secrets down to the moth.
She stretched her own wings; she was not much interested in secrets tonight. She was hoping for a decent breakfast around this rotten apple. Old enough to have a tasty treat, but new enough that the larger scavengers — raccoons or rabbits — had not sniffed out its delicious decaying aroma.
The leaves rustled madly, as a mysterious weight darted through the branches, crinkling silver shadows over it’s compact, quick body.
The moth flexed her wings; she would worry about that after she ate.
Written: 10 March 2016
Inspired: Over the Garden Wall