The land awakening. Fields thrumming green.
The waters warming. Ducks foraging.
A walker who had gone before, playing with stones in the wood.
In my studio, Molly will have absolutely no interest in my things,
until I go to work with them.
'In return for her letters to them, the faeries left her gifts,
assorted trinkets, tokens, and treasures
they would find on their restless wanderings.'
'The faeries would come to listen to her tell the stories she wrote just for them.'
That was a long, dark Winter.
I'm so ready for the sun.