A Book by the Brook — It’s Not Jack and the Beanstalk

Finds tongues in trees, books in running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

— William Shakespeare

A Book by the Brook: Book Reviews at FriendlyFairyTales.com

If you love books pulsing with voice, that magical quality that brings characters to life, you’ll love It’s Not Jack and the Beanstalk, by Josh Funk, illustrated by Edwardian Taylor, Two Lions, 2017. Continue reading

Midsummer Night’s Dream, Part 3

Frog violining

Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;
Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;
Feed him with apricots and dewberries,
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;
The honey-bags steal from the humble-bees,
And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs.
And light them at the fiery glow-worm eyes,
To have my love to bed and to arise;
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies
To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes:
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.

Note: Happy Father’s Day to all fine Gentlemen! Happy Midsummer! And this is the third and final part of my Shakespeare Quotes offered for the 3-Day Quote Challenge, thanks to an invitation by Marlyn at Kintal. I’ve thanked my challenger, offered three quotes in three days and passed the challenge along to any who comment here and express interest. For a midsummer fairy tale, click here. Hope you had a great weekend!

Rhododendron Fairy Cafe




“Look at the baby!” An elder fairy cooed then sipped nectar of jalapeño.

“Oh, she’s so cute!” A barrista fairy chimed in, while handing out honey-frappes.

“Look how pink she is!” A third fairy exclaimed, sipping her honeysuckle frappuccino.

“Thanks, my dears,” the mother fairy replied, “I just hope she naps!”

Copyright 2014 Brenda Davis Harsham

Happy Memorial Day, everybody, from the Rhododendron Fairy Cafe!

Warmly, Brenda

Red Mushroom Mansion

Used Courtesy of Postaldeliveries

Used Courtesy of Postaldeliveries

Maybelle had often admired the red mushrooms mansions, where she imagined only the very luckiest of fae could live. She liked to imagine the quiet with only a few neighbors. She had been living in a fungus highrise since she was born, surrounded by constant noise and banter.


Sylphanya, her sprite-mother, was hardly ever home and wanted different things than Maybelle. Her mother cared only for painting autumn leaves whereas Maybelle was drawn to water blossoms. Her mother seemed to like having a hundred neighbors, singing out happy hellos to everyone.

Maybelle knew the other fae-children thought she was a bit odd. Her near-neighbor Jamus called her a loner that morning because she hardly ever joined him and his sister, Dolpha, for nectar in the berry bar.

Maybelle was sad all day, not even the rainbow tints of a new lotus bloom cheered her. Maybelle decided to find her mother. Continue reading

Winter and Jack Frost

A good friend has written a delightful fairy tale about Jack Frost, partly inspired by my lit-tree photos, and I am honored to share it with you. I hope you like it, and it sparks some wonder on a cold autumn night. 🙂 Cheers, Brenda


There were only shadows and silhouettes when the little sprite-like

one awoke from his long, extended nap. The seasons had changed

while he slept and he looked around, not seeing his special ‘touch’

upon the land yet. He stretched his arms out and shrugged his thin

shoulders, shaking out his stiff joints, while wrapping his coat closely

around him.

The elfin man crept out from under the bridge, ready to dip his toes

into the chilly stream. He shivered with excitement and knowing it

was TIME.

As the water changed from moving sluggishly, freezing into a sheet of

ice, he tiptoed up the bank and left his tiny, crystalline footprints behind.

He hopped over the rock that led to the grass and he slowed.

He stopped.

He took one big breath IN! His lungs burned with the extremely brittle air.

He let one foggy (water vapored) breath OUT!

He prepared himself.

He took his hand from under his woolen blanket jacket and…

View original post 276 more words

Golden Path Etheree

Golden Woodland Path

Citrine dream.
Windy swirling,
Gold honey blizzard,
Swirls of a fairy’s cloak.
Restless spirits soar higher
With each dancing leaf falling down
To the shifting, shadowy hemline.
Surfeit of beauty looking at fall’s gown.

Copyright 2013 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: This poem is an Etheree, starting with one syllable on the first line and increasing to ten, one syllable per line.