Spellbook Haībun

IMG_9784“And then there are the times when the wolves are silent and the moon is howling.”

— George Carlin

Autumn leaves tapped the small windows. Elspeth blew the dust off the book. She knelt amidst generations of clutter and debris in the Martin family attic. She was looking for a costume, because Halloween was that night. On the leather book cover was burnt a full moon surrounded by a five-sided symbol. As the dust settled on old crocheted blankets and old-fashioned high chairs, she opened the book at random.

hidden in the trunk

voice rusty with disuse

still with much to say

“Scarab powder, dash of scaly rot, and ground bat bones sprinkled on seven squashed wolf spiders. Stir widdershins under a howling moon with a finger of oak. Stroke quarter over the main mast and quarter on the crow’s nest. Every particle that remains, seal in wax and burn until gone in the hold. Soon will come to you a strong headwind, fair weather and enemy bane. Beware shoal and reef, but raise proudly your flag, for safe port you will make, wise cargo making your fortune.”

seek the howling moon

sailing toward future fortune

magic within you

Fate had brought her to her ancestor’s spellbook, and fate denied becomes foe. Elspeth decided to be a witch for Halloween. She had no immediate need for a sailing spell, but perhaps it could be adapted for her car.  Elspeth embraced the book, and put it back under the crocheted afghans in Grandma Demeter’s favored avocado and pumpkin colors. Grandma Demeter had always seemed to have a charmed life. Now Elspeth knew why.

hold close heritage

its magic will come to you

when fate brings you home

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham

Prepared from the weekly Līgo Haībun challenge. Please visit them if you want to see some great writing!

Crankypot Halloween

Friendly Fairy Tales is pleased to offer a Halloween story for Adventurous Fairy Tale readers, Crankypot Halloween. Here is an excerpt:

Through the house give glimmering light,
By the dead and drowsy fire;
Every elf and fairy sprite
Hop as light as bird from brier;
And this ditty, after me,
Sing, and dance it, trippingly.
First rehearse your song by rote,
To each word a warbling note:
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.

— William Shakespeare
(A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act V, Scene II)

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The gray-haired man sat tapping his fingers on his knee, without noticing tiny flickering lights under drooping dahlias, but he was aware of the darkening sky. He did not notice three raven nests in the tree across the street. A little girl followed the flickering lights, crying the whole way, closer and closer to where the man sat in the dark.

He heard her weeping by the gate, and shouted “Take your tricks elsewhere! No treats here!” He had been guarding his yard from the pitch-black of his porch for 25 years, not letting any trick-or-treaters through the gate, all lights off.

The crying got louder. “Go away, you can’t trick me!” He shouted again, unable to see anything with the sun sinking fast. He heard hiccups, then even louder wailing. He flipped the floodlights on, against his usual policy entirely. In the wash of yellow light, all the flickering twilight fairies hid, and the ravens called out, restless.

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He sighed and approached the gate for the first time in 25 years on Halloween. In the light from his floodlights, he saw a little girl with blonde curls stuck to her wet cheeks. Tears were rolling down from her eyes, and dangling on the strands of her hair like dew. The straps of her pink butterfly wings had slid off her shoulders, and she clutched a pillow case tightly in a fist. She looked just like his daughter, Ella Mae, all those years ago when he caught her sneaking out to trick-or-treat behind his back. He had yelled at Ella Mae, and now she lived on the opposite side of the country.

“What’s the matter, girl?” He asked gruffly.

 

 

To find out what happens, whether tricks or treats, please click on Crankpot Halloween.

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham

Cobwebbed Skull Haiku

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Silly skull laughing;

Nylon spiders hard at work;

Halloween bones ready.

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham

Halloween Scene Haiku

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Bats flying, silent,

Leaves rustle on windless nights

Silver moon hiding.

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham

Baby Coyote Scares Halloween

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Baby Coyote lived in a den with his mom and dad, deep in a wood surrounded by the roads and houses of big folk. Mom and Dad Coyote hunted at night. In the early morning, they woke Baby Coyote. They fed him, played with him and kept him safe. They usually slept away the long hours the big folk were walking the trails, but sometimes they would hide and watch them pass by. The big folk seemed to see nothing at all that was not on the trails. Baby Coyote thought they were funny, especially when they would exclaim over dragonflies or poison ivy.

One morning, his mom and dad had to go visit the faraway woods. On the sunshine oak next door, hidden in the nasturtiums behind a round door, lived a happy gnome. His name was Iron Hair, for his stiff, spiky gray hair. Continue reading

Grave Haiku

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Young Ghost is not grave,

Dancing with a poltergeist;

Gravestone dominoes.

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham

Happy Wild Things Day

Every American school child is taught: “In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue…” My elementary school children study Columbus and the amazing feats of nautical prowess. He and his company sailed wooden ships with fabric sails across a wide and deadly dangerous ocean to uncharted waters, ultimately finding a new world. Much like Max in Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. Perhaps Columbus was sent to bed too many times without supper by his mother. Continue reading

October Sky Haiku

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Ghostly, low, silver-gray,

Tinges of black overhead,

Fall Halloween gloom…

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham

October Haiku

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Halloween’s coming:

Spooky sights, frights and delights,

Spiderweb and fog.

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham

Midsummer Stew

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“Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild,
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.” – W.B. Yeats

Conla picked early sage in her garden. Her family traditionally made a lamb stew for their midsummer feast. Her mother, Bronwyn, was inside their house braising the lamb with spring onions and chives. Conla heard her neighbor’s voice, and turned to see him walking under their archway with its pink roses and purple clematis.

“I can’t find a thing! My jackets are missing their buttons. My trousers all have holes. My wallet and keys are missing again! Are you doing this to me?!” Conla’s neighbor in the white cottage next door was Seamus O’Flanagan. Their two houses were the only ones for miles in that wild part of County Wicklow. The American had retired and come to the old country to write and paint, in the county of his ancestors. His wispy white hair was standing up in the wind, and his cheeks were red with anger.

Continue reading

International Day for the Protection of Children, Moscow, Russia

We should all celebrate the protection of children. What a great idea!

Happy International Children’s Book Day!

Andie's avatarAge is just a page number

I didn’t know this was a thing until today, but apparently lovers of kids’ fiction get their own day to celebrate. It also marks the birthday of Hans Christian Andersen, Danish author of fairy tales galore (think Thumbelina, Ugly Duckling, Princess and the Pea, Little Mermaid, and more). Full disclosure – I don’t think I’ve actually read any of his stories firsthand. But it’s the mark of a great story teller that I’m familiar with so many of his tales nonetheless. Maybe with all this revisiting of childhood books I’ll be inspired to check out some new titles as well, like the original Little Mermaid. But from what I’ve heard it’s much more depressing than the Disney version…

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