Tag Archives: Cards for a gloomy day

A Slight to be Righted

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A Slight to be Righted

By Intricate Knot

“Things don’t always begin the way we think that they should.
And they don’t often end that way, either.
However, things do always begin and end the way that they’re meant.”
~ Intricate Knot

How long had the three friends stood in that very spot in the Forest? An hour? A day? Nay, longer still. The silver sparkle they’d sprinkled, liberally as they had, was powerful stuff. It formed a barrier between them and the wicked thing (who happens to go by the name Diavex Clop) stalking them. As they peered through the dissipating sparkly cocoon they found themselves inside of, their hearts sank. Instead of Spring Greens and golden sun rays, they saw the sun resting low in a cold sky and the Forest floor strewn with dried-up orange and brown leaves. What of the others? You might ask. It’s not an unnatural question. No sooner had they sensed his presence, they had sprung into action, using one of the few weapons in their disposal that they knew could keep the beast at bay. “At bay,” doesn’t last forever though, and in fact only lasts six months.
The three, Fiddler, Wilber and Fizzy stood suspended for six months, taking them from the Merry Month of May to –
Six months? Holy cannoli, things were going to get tricky for our heroes now.
With a shrug of his sleek furry black shoulders, Fiddler turned to Wilbur,

“So, we over shot, eh?”
Words said any drier would have crumbled to dust. Stretching his long owly-raveny wings, Wilbur answered just as drily,

“A tad, yes.”
Fizzy looked from one to the other,

“Over shot? What are we talking about boys?”

“You may have noticed the leaves on the ground?” Asked Wilbur.

“And that nip in the air?” Fiddler added.
Foxy Fizzy took that very moment to look around.

“November? We’re in November?” Fizzy didn’t wait for an answer, though. With a twitch of her white-tipped, fluffy red tail and Foxy grace, she leapt through the trees and brush to investigate. While Wilbur and Fiddler sat on a large rock by a stream, silently contemplating the situation.

Fizzy was back in two shakes of a – well, she was back quickly. Hands on hips she informed,

“You do realize that there is no Harvest.”
Sadly, both Fiddler the Cat and Wilbur the Owly-Raven shook their heads.

“I’d hoped that wouldn’t be the case, but we over shot, you see,” Wilbur explained.

“While we were in our sparkle bubble, which it appears did not extend to Diavix, he captured not only our good friend and Spring Easter Bunny Hero, Aloysius-”

“And all the Springtime Flowers!” Fizzy interrupted.

“Yes, those, too,”

“And all of Loy’s bunny helpers,” Wilbur added helpfully.

“I was getting to them,” Fiddler said, a bit kitty-miffed, but he continued, “And now it seems Autumnal Artemis-”

“And all of the Fall Harvest Pumpkins!” Fizzy interrupted again.

“Have been taken, as well,” Wilbur finished.

“What are you two doing sitting around? We need to do something.”

“We’re thinking Fizzy. Now, perhaps you should sit for a moment and help us think this through,” Wilbur suggested.
She threw up her hands, then flopped down next to them,

“I suppose you’re right. Okay, I have a question, what were you two hoping to accomplish with your glitter?”
Ruffled feathers,

“It’s not glitter, its silver sparkle.”
Fiddler laid a calming paw on Wilbur’s wing,

“It’s been quite some time since we’ve used the sparkle, but our intention was to capture Diavix in the bubble with us. Then we would have been able to split the bubble and send him back to his world.”

“That’s what we tried to do long ago. He doesn’t belong here in the Forest. I’m sure that’s why he’s so angry and unpleasant. He probably just wants to go home,” Wilbur explained to Fizzy. Then a light dawned, “But Glassy stopped us back then, and perhaps she stopped us this time, too.”
As if on cue, they heard rustling in the brush behind them. And moaning. The trio can move very quickly and together they discovered a woozy-headed Glassy, both paw and wing flicked (a much smaller amount) of sparkle and a silver cage fashioned around her.

“Nooooooo,” she moaned some more, while shaking her gorgeous blue bejeweled and befeathered head.

“So,” Wilbur turned to his companions, “we managed to pull her in with us.”

“But no Diavix. Shame.” Fiddler shook his head sadly.

“Hang on here, boys, I’d say we’re in good shape at this point. We have Glassy!”
“True,” they two said in unison.
Fizzy turned to Glassy,

“Wake up you and stop playing about. You’ve turned loose a monster in our Forest. A monster who belongs somewhere else. Now, you’re going to help us.”
All wooziness disappeared in flash and Glassy hissed,

“And why would I help you?”

“Because we’re going to give you a Holiday of your own.”
If anyone ever knew what to expect to come out of Fizzy’s mouth, this would have been last on a very long list. They all stood gapping at her: Glassy, Fiddler, and Wilbur.
Fizzy merely rolled her eyes, addressing her friends,

“Oh come on. It makes sense. Glassy started the Great Holiday Maker Tribe with you two and she helped shape the Forest into the place that is today. She was only jealous and resentful that no one in the Tribe thought to bestow a Holiday on her in the first place, which by the way, would have not been overlooked if I had been a member back then.”
Hurt, Wilbur turned to Glassy,

“But why didn’t you say?”

“Of course we would have done that for you,” Fiddler added softly.
A fat tear rolled down Glassy’s glittery, scaly cheek. Fizzy intervened,

“If you have to say, then where is fun in it? The Tribe should have offered. It’s not a gift if you have to ask, you know.”
Seeing how low the two felt, Fizzy gave them a hug,

“Oh you boys and your mysteries, we females are actually very easily understood. We wish to be appreciated and only acknowledged every now and again.”
And with that, they unlocked Glassy’s cage. Hugs all around. Glassy led them to the Faeries, Aloysius, Artemis, bunny helpers and fall assistants, flowers and pumpkins! Everyone was back where they belonged. More hugs all around. The celebration would have to wait, though, for actually not everyone was back where they belonged. What of Diavix?

To be continued next month’s installment, “A Tale of Winter”!


Illustration “November” by Angelique Duncan. Appearance of Wilbur with permission of Intricate Knot.

Intricate Knot is proprietor of Cards For A Gloomy Day.Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for more adventures of Fiddler the cat.

 

He is the Rub…

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He is the Rub…

By Intricate Knot

“By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.”~ Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 4, Scene 1

Belying his hulking and awkward shape, he was fast and light on large, ugly feet. Most everything about him was ugly, though. Yes, he had large feet, with twisted, gnarled toenails; these were a good match to his long, crooked fingers that bore their claw-like tips.

He gave the appearance of having no neck; his stout head looked like it was being slowly swallowed up by his round, weighty shoulders. His complexion was an ashy green. His mouth seemed permanently affixed with a false grin, while large, decaying square-shaped teeth leered at anything unfortunate to catch their sight.

His brow hung darkly low, his chin jutted out nearly to his chest. His ears curled high above the top of his head, taller still than even his horns. His eyebrows lay heavy above smoky eyes that bore no spark of intelligence, but only revealed a sliver of cunning-will to survive. As his clawed toes ate up the ground, a tattered, ancient gold scarf flapped piteously, as if unwillingly, over his shoulders.

Unlike most creatures, he needed very little rest or sustenance. Ignorance and fear propelled him, which makes him the most dangerous of any beast.

His name is Diavex Clop and only one revenge-colored thought filled his fragile mind, ‘(the blue-feathered snake), she thinks she controls me, but I have my own plan.’

This fragment repeated itself over and over. It fueled him. It was his only companion. It was his armor.

And then he caught sounds that he’d waited thousands of years to hear. Voices. He stopped and blended effortlessly into the shadows of the trees. He listened intently with his large, unpleasant ears. Yes. It was them. Though thousands of years it had been, he would never forget that black, witchy cat or that baffling owl creature. They were his enemies. Right now they laughed together and those sounds made him angry. So angry. He peered through the leaves and could see them both in the far distance. They stood with a fox. He did not know her. It would not matter, though. When he made them pay, it would not matter who was with those two.

He could take them now. By surprise. He was so tempted. His fingers curled into misshapen fists. It was not time, though. Not yet.

He had to meet with the blue-feathered one. A low growl escaped his warped lips and in a whisper he was gone. The beleaguered golden scarf reluctantly pulled with him.

Mid-laughter, Fiddler and Wilbur stopped. A slow chill wound its way up their spines, while a heavy black, twisting mist oozed, snake-like out of the trees and swirled around the threesome. If there had been any flowers left in the forest they surly would have withered in protest.

Immediately and in unison, Wilbur and Fiddler grabbed a handful of silver sparkle from their pouches, puckered up and blew it to form a vibrant, protective circle around them all. The black mist, sizzled and screamed as if burned, retreated, then disappeared entirely.

Fizzy looked from one to the other in perplexity,

“What just hap-”

In all seriousness, Fiddler signaled silence. They all listened. Listened with all their power and they failed to hear, but it made no difference. The two friends looked at each other and with sinking hearts they knew. An old enemy had returned to the forest.

To be continued next month!


Illustration “Glassy Croon” by Intricate Knot.
Illustration “What to do?” by Angelique Duncan. Appearance of Wilbur with permission of Intricate Knot.

Intricate Knot is proprietor of Cards For A Gloomy Day.Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for more adventures of Fiddler the cat.

 

The Blue Feather

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The Blue Feather

By Intricate Knot

“The game is afoot.”~ Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

When last we left our heroes, the ever stylish, sleek, cat Fiddler and the forever cantankerous owly-raven Wilbur, they were in the midst of saving Easter. With all those spring time eggs that needed to be decorated, there was no time to contemplate the clues left behind by the kidnapper and thief: a single blue feather and a scrap of dirty, gold scarf. Who or what had caused the disappearance of every one of Aloysius’ bunny holiday helpers had to be placed on hold. Although their hands were kept busy decorating and packing eggs into baskets, they couldn’t stop their minds from wandering to the chilling fact that all of the helpers were missing and even more disturbing were the missing flowers. Not one spring time flower remained in the forest or the great field that surrounded it! And the flowers hadn’t been picked or plucked; trimmed or torn…it was as if there had never been any flowers at all. Not a sign of them! Thank goodness the faeries had this matter well in hand and were busily coaxing new flowers from out of the earth.

Once the last egg was packed into its tiny colorful straw basket and Aloysius hopped off, Fiddler and Wilbur turned their attention to the blue feather. Both of them knew that sometimes in order to understand the present, we have to make a trip back to the past. It’s not always pleasant, although it does depend on what’s back there. In this case? Definitely not pleasant for our heroes…

Hundreds upon hundreds, perhaps even thousands upon thousands of years ago there lived a beautiful and frightful creature named Glassy Croon. Beautiful because of her fantastic royal blue plumage and frightful because of her glittering scales, Glassy possessed the wings and headdress of a bird and the scaly, coiled, fluid body of snake and at the end of her tail a hypnotic rattle with a venomous tip. To add to this, Glassy had the most beautiful singing voice: a gift from one of King Neptune’s Sirens.

Once upon a time they had all been famous friends: Fiddler, Wilbur, and Glassy. The trio was inseparable. They did everything together, even eating breakfast, lunch, and supper together. Oh, and the adventures and fun mischief they would get up to! Fiddler was much then as he is now, but Wilbur had been a much lighter, less crabby soul in those days. He even fancied himself in love with Classy Glassy, as he called her then.

Her friendship had all been a sham, though. Glassy had devious plans, plans to disappear all the holidays and disband the Great Holiday Maker Tribe forever. It was only sheer luck that Fiddler and Wilbur discovered her plot, but that is a tale for another time. Suffice it to say our heroes saved the day (actually they saved many days!) and Glassy was banished. Although, they never discovered why she wanted to destroy holidays and the mystery has always haunted them both.

As punishment Glassy Croon had been banished to the far off Land of La, where they all believed she would never trouble anyone ever again. The portal between their world and La had been sealed, permanently. Of course in these situations the villain or villainess always manages to escape to cause grievous mischief another day though, yes? And our villainess is no exception. While in La she planned her revenge for a long, long, very long time and found a way to escape.

“We definitely know who that feather belongs to,” Fiddler began.

“Yes. Although how she escaped…escapes me at the moment,” Wilbur responded with a woeful expression in his big owly, black eyes.

“That is not our problem right now. First, we need to find her.”

“Then we are going to need help and a lot of it.”
Fiddler nodded, deep in thought,

“Yes, you’re right, of course.”

“And I’m thinking of-”

“Fizzy.”

“Yes.”
The two friends in accord, they sent Sassy the Pigeon to request her presence.

Fizzy Frazelli, a foxy fox with her beautiful amber coat, fluffy snowy-tipped tail, and Italian accent was eager to help out. To assist in saving the Great Holiday Making Tribe and the forest was a worthy and noble cause. Who could refuse? Though foxes don’t feature much in human holiday tales, being clever and pretty they certainly do have their place and all places are important. Wearing a periwinkle sun hat, Fizzy arrived at Loy’s bunny domain in record time, greeting Fiddler and Wilbur with a smile and a wink,

“You tell me what you need and I’ll get my boys started.”
Fiddler imparted the news,

“Fizzy, it’s Glassy. She’s back. Worse yet, we don’t know what else she may have planned.”

“Indeed, with the summer months upon us there is much to be put in order and set into motion. We daren’t have a setback,” Wilbur added.
To her credit, Ms. Frazelli’s dazzling smile never faltered,

“Well, I’ll just have to get a few of our neighbors involved. Don’t you worry, we caught up with her last time, and we’ll do it again.”

True to her word, Fizzy enlisted the help of her foxy boys, and asked the coyotes for help, too. All of them clever enough to scent out even the most subtle of creatures. Wilbur flew over field, glen, and forest, Fiddler prowled through burrow, cave, and hollow, and the foxes and coyotes sniffed at every valley, ravine, and crevice. All of them searched for anything that would lead them to Glassy’s whereabouts, but as the sun set that evening not one of them had found a sign. They decided to meet at Loy’s, this way they could stand guard over their bunny friend, while he slept after the long Easter day of deliveries and appearances. Who knew if Glassy planned something more for their bunny friend!

When they all met back at Loy’s that night, Fiddler, Wilbur and Fizzy discussed their next move over large mugs of frosty root beer and maple creams. With a decisive click of his mug on the rustic table Fiddler stated,

“Right, we’ll go back over everywhere again tomorrow.”

“Okay, but I think we need more help,” Wilbur suggested.

“Good idea. What do you think, Fizzy? Fizzy?”

“Hmm…I was only thinking.”

She had Wilbur and Fiddler at the edge of their seats and when a few more moments passed they said in unison,

“What?”

Well, how did Glassy escape the Land of La?”
Fiddler and Wilbur exchanged glances.

“I am wondering if she’s opened the portal to escape that perhaps-”

“She can open the portal and go back in,” Fiddler finished.

“Oh, that’s just fabulous. Anyone want a refill?”
Fiddler and Fizzy held out their mugs to Wilbur. He began pouring more root beer and suddenly stopped.

“I just thought of something worse.”
Fiddler felt the hair along his spin rise,

“What?”

“If she’s able to come and go as she pleases and has taken Loy’s helpers and the spring flowers to La, what if she can bring-”
Fizzy gasped,

“No!”

“I hope you’re wrong, Wilbur,” but even as he said it, Fiddler knew Wilbur wasn’t wrong. It explained that scrap of dirty gold scarf…

To be continued next month!


Illustration “Glassy Croon” by Intricate Knot.
Illustration “What to do?” by Angelique Duncan. Appearance of Wilbur with permission of Intricate Knot.

Intricate Knot is proprietor of Cards For A Gloomy Day.Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for more adventures of Fiddler the cat.

 

Spring’s Golden Light

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Spring’s Golden Light

By Intricate Knot

“Pouring through our windows and doors, straight into our hearts,
All but one of us danced and sang
Welcoming Spring’s Golden Light…”

“You want me to do what?”

“Let me in, Wilbur and I’ll tell you.”
Impatiently Wilbur motioned Fiddler into his abode and then stood, his black wings folded across his chest.

“Well?”

“Well, we need your help.”

“We?”

“Yes, Loy and I.”

“Aloysius? And why should he need our help? He hasn’t asked for our help since-”

“Yep, since then.”

“Why-”

“Are you sure you want to ask that question?”
Thinking for a moment, Wilbur quickly shook his head,

“No, I suppose not. So, we are to help decorate eggs, then? Just like-”

“Before, yes.”

“I do wish you would stop finishing my sentences, Fiddler. It’s getting quite annoying. I’ll get my floppy-painting-the-eggs hat.” And with that Wilbur stomped upstairs.

Fiddler-the-Cat knew that Wilbur would help. He just knew that with that help came Wilbur’s peevish owly-ravenish ways. Perhaps that’s what happens when you’re magically part owl and part raven. Fiddler wouldn’t know, as he was purely, magically black silky cat. What? You think the services of these magical fellows are only needed during the Halloween season? Hardly. These two are kept busy year-round. Saving holidays left and right, that’s what these two do. The only difference was, Wilbur liked to complain: often and heartily. Whereas Fiddler just preferred to get on with. The sooner the deed was done, the sooner he could get back to hunting, playing his fiddle, or curling up on his porch with a good book on a lovely, Spring day such as today and perhaps taking a nap. Cats are famous for their napping, you know.

Wilbur returned wearing a ridiculous canvas hat that looked like a cross between a safari helmet and a bee keepers bonnet. Very strange. However, being accustomed to Wilbur’s penchant for odd hats, Fiddler (wearing his perfectly respectable witch hat) made no remark.
On their way out the door though, Fiddler stopped Wilbur,

“Good Naps! I nearly forgot. We’ll need some of your mani-sparkles.”
Though it seems impossible, Wilbur’s face fell even further,

“That bad, eh?”

“Yes.”

When they arrived at Loy’s place, Wilbur couldn’t help but remark on the white rabbit’s disheveled appearance,

“What is going on here, Aloysius? You look like you’ve taken a turn in the wood cutter.”
The buttons on his purple velvet doublet were mis-buttoned, his white fur (normally pristine) was dusty and quite brown in spots, his right ear leaned to the left and his left ear bent backwards.

“Really Wilbur? You know we hand carve all our eggs. And the chocolate eggs are all hand molded. Wood cutter. Pfttt. Indeed. Are you here to help or to criticize?”

“Help of course. I’m only worried about you.”

“Less worrying please, and more decorating.”

It wasn’t like Aloysius (or Loy as Fiddler liked to call him) to be short-tempered. The holiday is tomorrow though and when the three entered the workshop they could see very well the reason for Loy’s distress.

Long, battered workshop tables held boxes filled with human child palm-sized unfinished wooden eggs. Not a lick of paint on them, although it appeared that there was plenty of paint to be found. A myriad of glass jars held pinks, greens, yellows, blues, oranges, and purples. Light colors and dark colors. Fine-tipped paint brushes sat unused at hundreds of stations. Where were all of Aloysius’ bunny holiday helpers?

“I don’t know where they are! I know that they would never abandon their posts. Not at this time of the year. I can only be grateful that the chocolate and sugar eggs are complete. But these,” he gestured desperately to the wooden eggs, “these are all undone. We will have to work the rest of the day-”

“And well into the night.” Fiddler finished.

“Yes,” Aloysius agreed.

“We’re going to need help. Has anyone asked the faeries?”

“The faeries are busy enough with the flowers, Wilbur.”

“Why? The flowers should be doing very well on their own right now.”

“Normally, yes, but it looks like whoever took Loy’s bunny helpers took the flowers, as well.”
A million thoughts shot through Wilbur’s head, but instead of sputtering expletives, he shut his beak and broke out the bag of mani-sparkles.

“It’s a very good thing Fiddler asked me to bring this, then.”
Loy and Fiddler exchanged a glance, both knowing that had the circumstance been less desperate Wilbur would most certainly have argued, long if not loudly.
Knowing his friends as well as they knew him,

“Yes, well there isn’t time to argue and question right now, is there? However, after this lot,” he gestured to the thousands of unfinished eggs, “are done and you’re making deliveries, Fiddler and I will be looking for the thief. And I have a sinking feeling that I who that is.”

“So do I,” Fiddler nodded to Wilbur.

Sprinkling the mani-sparkles, Wilbur called to the Ancient Artists of Old, Bringers of Holiday Spirit Untold.

“They will set things right. They will bring us Spring’s Golden Light with hands to help us decorate.”
And then there they were, hundreds of iridescent helpers looking like miniature ghosts of ducks and chicks, cats and dogs, even ponies and goats. All held brushes in one webbed foot, claw, paw or hoof and a wooden egg in the other, painting beautiful swirly designs and rich symbols on each and every egg.

Once again, the holiday was saved. Saved by Magic, it’s true, but isn’t that what all holidays are? Magic?
Early the next morning, Aloysius used his own special brand of Magic, delivering baskets and hiding eggs in the grass and brush near every young child’s home. Hearts filled with delight as the egg hunt was back on. Although, no one but Fiddler, Wilbur, and Aloysius knew how close the holiday came to not happening at all.

Fiddler and Wilbur had their own mission. They had to discover who stole the holiday helpers and every wildflower in every field. A grim Spring, indeed without bunnies and flowers. Who could do such a thing? And why? They only had two clues left on the floor of the Loy’s workshop: a single blue feather and a torn and dirty piece of a muddy-gold colored scarf…

To be continued next month!


Illustration “Aloysius Dilemma” by Angelique Duncan.
Illustration “Decorated Eggs” by Intricate Knot.

Intricate Knot is proprietor of Cards For A Gloomy Day.Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for more adventures of Fiddler the cat.

 

Spring Once Again

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Spring Once Again
Written by Intricate Knot (exactly as was told to her)

By Intricate Knot

“It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.”

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

If the day had been less fine and clear, I may have missed it. If it had rained that day, I would have hurried myself home to sit by the fire and enjoy a cup of hot chocolate and a biscuit or two (perhaps even three). But though I could feel ice in the air the sun shone down prettily, it was a fine day and I didn’t miss a thing. There in my forest home, straight across the path to my house a lovely black-as-coal kitty and a precious white-as-whipped-cream bunny scampered together. Together, you say? I do, indeed. Together. The cat did not chase the rabbit. No. They skipped together, hand-in-hand across the path and through the woods.

I couldn’t let them go. I had to find out. What are they doing together? And where are they going in such a big hurry? And what are those colorful witches’s hats doing on their heads?? The cat wore a soft velvety purple with a chartreuse silky ribbon and the rabbit sported a rosy satin affair along with an eye-catching vest to match. Where did they acquire such fine fashions? I wondered.

Curiosity is something of which I always indulge and this day was no exception. Off the path and into the woods after them I ran.

I have to say, I was out of breath before too long. I’m mostly human, you see, and the human part of me tends to slow me down. My heart thundered in my chest so loudly, I was certain the two I barely kept in sight could hear it and at any moment they would turn and ask,

“What are you doing, clumsy human girl? You don’t really think you can keep up with the likes of us!” Then they’d laugh and run straight out of my view. That cannot happen, I told myself. And quite miraculously, it didn’t.

It was dark in this part of woods. The trees are amazingly tall and dignified. Beautiful, of course, but they do tend to block out the light. I’m not afraid. Of course not. However, I am a bit clumsy even in the best of light. Breathing hard now, I crossed my fingers that I wouldn’t trip. And quite miraculously, I didn’t.

At the clearing, they finally stopped those mischievous two (yes, true I did not know them all too well or even at all! But something sparked and crackled in the air around them. I knew this, because I ran straight through it). They sat as pretty as you like, on a smooth, large gray stone right next to the river.

I kept my distance. If they didn’t know I was there (though, I’m sure that they did), I did not wish to startle them. I too, sat on a large stone, but at the edge of the clearing under a great Noble Fir. I heard the two whispering and strained to hear what they said. I couldn’t make out their conversation, though. I don’t mind saying that disappointment began tapping on my shoulder just about then. What good had it been to follow them all this way, tear my stockings, rip my hem, and sit on this cold stone in the chill of the air, if I wasn’t going to find out anything about them? I was considering how to introduce myself, when something purely mystical-magickal happened!

Music began to play. I heard it play in the distance. It sounded like it was coming from the river and I could tell that it was getting closer. Now I sat quietly, smoothed back my hair and folded my hands firmly in my lap.

The cat, sleek and sweet, turned to his good friend (I could tell they were cherished friends, I felt it in the air along with the sparks and the crackles) and said with a smile,

“Aloysius, dear lad, I do believe it is time.”

“Right as always, Fiddler,” and with that the rabbit pulled out a wood flute.
‘Ah,’ I thought happily, ‘I’ve discovered their names!’ It was completely worth the flight through the woods just to know Aloysius Bunny and Fiddler-the-Cat. Marvelous. But more was in store!

Fiddler had brought out his namesake and the two began to play, adding their instrumental chorus to the oncoming music, which now grew closer still. That’s when I saw the small boats, made of pearly pink shells, filled with luminous petite faeries, each of whom sparkled with a different color: lavender, periwinkle, coral, lemon, and mint. And as sparkles go, these were very easy on the eyes.

As the tiny boats pulled up alongside Fiddler and Aloysius, I had a moment of panic. As delightful as faeries are, I am no stranger to their wily powers. Must I always be led by my (at times) regrettable curiosity? What had I possibly got myself into this time? As quietly as I could, I stood up and began to slowly back away. Perhaps if I reached the wood in time, the faeries might not notice me! But, that wasn’t the case. I knew that as soon as the most dazzling pink of the lot waved and then beckoned to me. Did I just swallow a bug? Or was that a lump of fear in my throat? Fear? Surely that was a bug. I silently apologized to the bug for eating it and gingerly made my way to group of magickal creatures.

After introductions were made between the Faerie Royalty and I (I’m sorry, but I was sworn to secrecy and I cannot reveal their names to you, if I did I’m sure I’d get into all sorts unfunny trouble), Fiddler told me,

“The faeries and us need assistance with Spring.”
Stunned that such beauteous creatures could want anything from me, I nodded eagerly,

“You’ve only to ask what you need and I’ll do my very best to comply.”
It was then Aloysius’ turn,

“It’s Spring, you see. It needs to be sprung.”
Huh. Who would have guessed that? Not I.

I’ve never helped spring Spring, before. This could be fun! And what an educational experience it could turn out to be. Not a bad item to list on your resume. Not that I’m looking for a job. Not that I need one. Sorceress-In-Training, First Class, at your service. I only hope they don’t think I know what I’m doing, because I certainly do not.

“Oh, it’s very simple just extremely complex,” grinned the cat.

“I’m afraid, yes, he’s correct,” Aloysius said and then gave a great sneeze.
Turning to see what the faeries made of all this, I noted that they appeared to be nodding in agreement. Though, I’d not a clue.

“If it were up, it would clearly be down,” began Fiddler.

“But if it were right, it would be equally as apparent to be left,” finished Aloysius.

“You’re confusing the poor girl. She is part human, you know,” and down swooped an Owly creature wearing a bright, swirly green and yellow witch’s hat.

“Hmm, I was wondering when you were going to turn up,” Fiddler said, still grinning, but now I could see a glint in his emerald eyes.

“Had to get the troops going, didn’t I? If someone doesn’t direct them, they’re bound to end up marching straight off a cliff.”

“Yes,” agreed the rabbit. “Wilbur’s quite right. No matter how many times we explain and no matter how many signs I post, they all seem to want to walk off cliffs. Bizarre behavior, even if they are lemmings.”
Somehow they all thought this was very funny. Everyone joined in on the laughter (even myself though I still hadn’t a clue what was what), everyone except Wilbur, who wore a dire expression on his Owly-Raven face. He addressed me,

“They’re lemmings, dear girl. That’s the joke.”

“Ah.” Though, I still felt a bit thick.

“As to Spring, we need your help calling out the Flora.”

“And the Fauna, don’t forget them,” Aloysius reminded, though it was apparent by the expression on Wilbur’s face a reminder was unnecessary.
Before another word could be exchanged between the two, Fiddler whisked Aloysius away to a new group of faeries that had just arrived and were gathering under a particularly striking pine,

“I do believe your attentions are required over here, Alo.”

“It’s a good deal Fiddler’s on the ball. We’re so very behind right now! If that one,” Wilbur rolled his eyes to the tall and elegant rabbit, “gets chocolate eggs to everyone on time this year without mixing them up with the jelly beans it really will be a miracle. And though our group excels at miracles, I still always have my doubts.”

“Yes, well, you never know.”
And then he gave me what I’m sure was a most rare occurrence, Wilbur smiled,

“Why yes. Exactly right.”
Feeling a bit like a star pupil in Miss Sally Sash’s Class, I smiled back.
Fiddler rejoined us,

“You can take care of the flowers, sweet lady.”
Please note: I’d rather my name didn’t get out, either (hence the “dear girl” and “sweet lady” etc etc). I still had no notion of what I would be doing I only hoped that they would eventually tell me. And tell me in a way that I would truly understand.

“It really is all very simple,” gruffed Wilbur with an eye roll to Fiddler.

“Yes, forgive me for teasing,” the cat said with a wink. “You only need to call the flowers. You know so many of them. It’s why we chose you for this task.”

“Call them?”

“Yes. You’ll come with us underground. Just picture each flower in your mind,” Wilbur stated.

“When we pass by their roots, they’ll know that it’s time,” Fiddler continued.
Huh. While I looked at the ground I thought that somehow it really didn’t sound “simple” to me. I was I going to fit in their tunnels? I’m a big, gawky part-human girl. Perhaps they forgot?

“Of course we haven’t forgotten,” Fiddler looped his silky, kitty appendage through my arm.

“And you’re not ‘gawky,’” Wilbur added firmly while grasping my other arm, his black feathers tickling, just slightly.

“Okay.”
We began walking together, alongside the river, strolling quite casually.

“The butterflies will be up soon and so will the bees. We’ll have to get going.” Fiddler said and with a nod Wilbur agreed. With that, no longer were we surrounded by blue sky and river and trees, nor even rocks and mushrooms and muck. We stood in a long, curvy cavern beneath all of that or at least this was my best guess. It was brown overhead, which I imagined was earth. Small tendrils, tender roots hung down here and there (mostly there). It was all rather weird, but in an odd way (which is always the best way), vaguely pretty, as well. ‘Ah,’ I thought, ‘so here are the roots we will talk to, while I picture them flowering.’
Under the ground, skipping through passages carved out in the dirt; through the remainder of that day and then through the night (though I really don’t know how long we took), all of us; Fiddler and Wilbur, Aloysius and the faeries and I worked very hard calling up plants and bees, butterflies, flowers, and brush. Letting them know it was time to get up.

“There are wondrous things to be seen and amazing adventures to be had! Wake up! Wake up!”
I like to sleep in, just as much as the next guy (or daisy), so I can’t say that I blamed those who gave the impression of being a bit reluctant to arise. But they did none-the-less.

Regardless that for a few sleepy bees and a couple of drowsy daisies it seemed like a chore, for most of the others it was truly a delight. Despite of or maybe because of their mood, even the sluggish ones all seemed to know it was time. The new and wondrous awaits and there are amazing adventures to be had, for it is Spring once again.

So…if ever you should be returning to your cottage in the forest and you happen to see a bunny, cat, or owl cross your path. Follow them into the woods. You won’t be disappointed.


Illustration “Calling Upon the Faeries” by Angelique Duncan.

Intricate Knot is proprietor of Cards For A Gloomy Day.Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for more adventures of Fiddler the cat.

 

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Valentine Dance

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A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Valentine Dance
(As secretly witnessed) By Intricate Knot

By Intricate Knot

“For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.”

~ D.H. Lawrence

“Dancing?” Wilbur asked with a strange mix of bitterness and piteousness on his Owly face (well, odd “Owly,” to be sure. Wilbur is technically an Owl, but he’s sort of an Owly Raven. It would be a great deal to explain right now and we really don’t have the time, Dear Reader, as this is a Valentine tale and not a Weird-Science-Gone-Pleasantly-Wrong Tale).

copyright Intricate Knot

“Yes, Wilbur. There most certainly will be dancing,” Fiddler-the-Cat spoke calmly and continued to steer his friend to the closet. Fine feathers he might have, but these fine feathers had a decidedly gloomy tinge to them this afternoon. He had to find him a scarf or hat or something to brighten the ensemble Wilbur continued to allow himself to be guided to the armoire, which Fiddler opened with his usual flourish. A flourish that Wilbur did not possess. And did not care to be in possession of, to be exact. Let the Cat have the flourish, Wilbur thought. He had his own talents. Still, though he loved his beautiful, talent-for-the-dramatic-and-Magick friend, it did not stop him from accusing.

“You didn’t say anything about dancing when I agreed to attend.”

“Really?” Fiddler asked while pulling out and rejecting scarves, hats, and silk ties from Wilbur’s closet and tossing them onto the large, pillowy bed, “I sort of thought that was implied when I told you we were invited to the Valentine Dance.”

“Yes, yes. But I thought the “Dance” part was really more of an expression. You know like when we say we’re going to have a Sunday Breakfast, but we really don’t get up until noon.”
Fiddler, back turned to his friend, felt free to roll his striking, emerald cat eyes heavenward,

“Come on, Wilbur, help me out here. What do you have to wear to the party?”

“Party? Now we’re calling it a “party”? You know how I feel about parties.”

“Yes, yes, but we don’t have time for a trip down Old Trauma Lane right now. What do you want to wear to the dance?”
Wilbur shuddered at the word “dance” and simply grabbed the first thing he saw: a rumpled, scruffy Witch’s hat.

“This?” Fiddler asked trying his best not to sound horrified.

“Yes, this.”

“I don’t know. It’s sort of-”

“I know and I don’t care,” Wilbur said and stubbornly stuffed the it-had-seen-better-days hat onto his black-feathered head.
Fiddler eyed him doubtfully,

“And you’re certain of your choice?”

“Yes.” His mind was made up. “Look,” he pointed to the brim, “it even has a heart sewn on it.”
The small, dusty pink heart sewn onto the deeply purple sash wasn’t the best example of a heart. It was a bit skewed. Crinkled, wrinkled, and quite frankly frinkled (another word for skewed) the poor little heart had seen better days…or at least Fiddler hoped it had seen better days.

“Fine,” and threw up his paws. Perhaps if his friend wore the Witch’s hat, he’d relax and stop complaining.

The truth was that Fiddler was nearly as nervous for himself as he was for his good pal Wilbur. Neither of them was entirely comfortable with the entire Valentine concept. Granted, they both belonged to the Great Holiday Maker Tribe and as such were committed to making the very best out each and every holiday, even the ones that seemed a bit odd to them. Not to mention (although we are) the fact that both Wilbur and Fiddler had experienced that most poignant of conditions: the Broken Valentine Heart.

Although it is hard to believe that anyone could break the heart of either of these boys (well, cat-boy and owl-boy and truth be told neither were “boys” being that they were each well over a hundred years old, but young by Great Holiday Maker Tribe standards). Both of them are terribly handsome, amazingly talented, and gainfully employed, but sadly broken hearts are part of life, are they not?

Halloweenish as the two were (all midnight feathers and fur and Wilbur wearing a Witch’s hat and Fiddler being his usual, sleek, black cat self), they made their way through the snow covered forest to the Grand Ole Oak Clubhouse. Each in their own manner: Fiddler strolled and hummed while Wilbur trudged and grumbled,

“Fine for you, Fiddler, you’ll have something to occupy yourself with.”

“You’ll not get any sympathy from me. You could always accompany my fiddle with your singing.”

It was a sore point between them. Wilbur used to sing and sing beautifully. He stopped after his heart was broken. According to him, Owly-Raven vocal chords are attached to their hearts and once the heart breaks, the vocal chords break, too. Fiddler was patient, especially for a cat and most especially with his friends, but
this had gone on long enough. His friend had a gift for singing, just like he had a gift for playing the fiddle.
One should not trifle with a gift.
copyright Angelique Duncan

And that’s when Cupid showed up. Not always welcome, but he certainly knew how to make an entrance. Lights flashed onto the pristine snow: pink and red and gold. It was a bit like a disco really, but who would
complain to Cupid? Certainly not Fiddler or Wilbur.

“Look, I really don’t have a lot of time, lads. This is my busiest time of the year, you know.”
Blinded by the sparkly, fuchsia beams that shot out of Cupid’s golden locks, both Fiddler and Wilbur merely nodded, although they couldn’t help but wonder what had brought the love-arrowed-candy-and-flower-
bearing-everyone-thinks-he’s-an-angel-but-he’s-really-a-demon dude to their part of the Woods.

“Your collective suffering has touched my heart. In a most unexpected way, I might add. So, I’ve decided to bless you both with an arrow.”
Unbidden, both lads gulped and took a step back. An “arrow” from Cupid? No, thank you, Sir. No, thank you, indeed.
Cupid let out a great sigh,

“Not that kind of arrow. This is an Arrow of Truth.”
Wilbur whispered to Fiddler,

“Sounds like it will hurt just as much as the other kind, if you ask me.”

“And I didn’t ask you, did I?” Cupid hovered above the two now and the arrows on his back glowed a foreboding crimson.
Fiddler who was not in the mood for a tussle with Cupid on Valentine’s Day decided to be the peacemaker and held up his paws,

“Come on fellows, we all have a busy schedule tonight.” He turned to his friend, “We should hear Cupid out, we’ve known him for a great many years and he doesn’t mean us harm, you know.”

“Of course he doesn’t mean us harm, we just end up harmed.”
Now Cupid’s skin began to glow as crimson as his arrows. Steam churned out of his golden earring adorned ears. And his arrows? Well, sparks seemed to be spitting out from the quills. None of this boded well.

“If you end up ‘harmed’ it is your own fault, Wilbur. No one told you to be so grumpy.”
Stung, Wilbur shouted,

“I am NOT grumpy!”
He glanced over at Fiddler, who gave him a “look.” You know the kind of “look” that only good pals can give us, because they’ve got our number.
He then had the grace to amend,

“Or at least I’m not all the time. Only about Valentine’s. It’s just not my thing, Cupid.”
Instantly, Cupid softened. Demon he may be, but his heart was that of a Lover.

“I know, dear Wilbur. And you as well, dearest Fiddler. You have both had a rough year, to be sure.
But here is my Arrow of Truth,” Instantly an arrow appeared in his hand, he threaded his bow, and aimed, “Your Hearts have been broken, this is quite true. Remember this though, inside your old, tired, broken Heart, a new, eager, and whole Heart grows. You’ll both feel it stretch out of you, quite soon. I promise.”
And with that he was gone, without a fare-thee-well or even a “later, dudes.”

Fiddler and Wilbur looked at each other. Fiddler spoke first,

“Huh. Cupid can be appallingly rude.”

“Yeah, nothing like shooting arrows and then just vanishing.”
They didn’t say, but they both actually felt a lightening of spirit. Like a tight band that had tightened around their chests had suddenly sprung and was no more. Deep breaths could be breathed once again. And that is a very good thing, is it not?

They went to the Valentine Dance, as planned. To the joy of the crowd, Fiddler played his fiddle and Wilbur
did join in with his singing. A grand time was had by all. And as it turns out both lads each met with a fine
lady that very evening: Wilbur met his Betty Bee (a Bee of great humor, spirit, and worth) and Fiddler met Carnival (“Carney” for short, a beauteous silver cat and possessor of a multitude of gifts).

So…if you find yourself dreading this red-pink-and-otherwise-gawdy-hearts-candy-flowers-and-variously-painful-mushy-doo-dahs Valentine’s Day, not to worry, it will all right itself in the end. Perhaps not this Valentine, but then maybe next. As Cupid says,

“…Your Hearts have been broken, this is quite true. Remember this though, inside your old, tired, broken Heart, a new, eager, and whole Heart grows.”

Illustration “Wilbur” by Intricate Knot
Illustration “Wilbur’s Trepidation” by Angelique Duncan. Appearance of “Wilbur” with permission from Intricate Knot

Intricate Knot is proprietor of Cards For A Gloomy Day.Check out her artist page to find links to her shop and blog to read more of her writings. Visit again next month for more adventures of Fiddler the cat.