Flight to Lemuria

I am far away from Lemuria at the moment, my feet weighted to the ground. I need to feel the air upon my face, the wind blowing through my hair, to access my creative muse again and to cast off this burden called Responsibility. To this end I have decided to fly by hot air balloon to Lemuria and have made the necessary arrangements. I am so excited both to be returning to Lemuria and to be taking off again.

I rise early in the morning for hot air balloons need to be alight and aloft before the winds wake up to their full potential. It’s so still and the sun hasn’t risen yet. It’s peaceful. Even the street dogs are still twitching in their dreams of long-lost bones. I make my way to the open space from where we’ll be taking off. The basket is still anchored to the ground with the ropes snaking over the ground towards the brightly coloured envelope (that’s what the silk part of the balloon is called). I am helped into the basket by the crew and the ground staff begin to blast the hot air into the envelope which slowly fills and the colours are revealed. Soon the balloon is fully inflated and the basket is bobbing in its excitement to be up and away.  I hum snatches of the song “Up, up and away” under my breath.

The ropes are released and the balloon drifts slowly upwards and we’re off. Soon we’re high above the ground and I think that the animals I can see far below me in the field are rabbits. This impression is quickly corrected when I am reliably informed that they are in fact deer! Up here there is no way to judge one’s distance off the ground by eye alone. Apart from the song of the larks and the rush of the flames into the envelope we are surrounded by total silence. We are still climbing as there is a range of mountains over which we must fly. Far below me now I can see strange rock formations and note where the tree line has finished, revealing only stark brown rocks. I am in heaven….

I wasn’t the only one taking off this morning, others followed in my wake although heading to different destinations, each of them seeking something personal, something missing from their humdrum lives. As we turned to head over the mountains I looked behind me to see the other balloons.

We drift over a high mountain pool, the cloudless sky mirrored in its flat surface and gradually start our descent. I can see the abbey in the far distance, its honey coloured stonework rises gracefully at the edge of a small wood. Slowly the air is released from the balloon and we drift downwards. As we approach the ground helpers from the abbey run to meet us and chase after the ropes with which they will anchor us to the ground again. The basket bumps down on to the field. I have been expecting this and cling tightly to the edge of the basket, this is when limbs can get injured but today no one is hurt. I clamber out of the basket and bid farewell to the crew who will be resting at the abbey until they can take off again at dusk.

As we pass through the arch into the abbey I can see the abbess making her way down the path to greet me and whisk me off into the kitchens where I’ll be given something delicious to drink which will wipe away my worldly cares and my new adventures will begin.

The real abbey at Orval, in Belgium, the ruins of the old one and the modern one, on which my imagined Lemurian abbey is based:

Desert portal

 

The red sun beat unrelentingly on the already-hot sand. It would soon be sunset and the shadows were elongating and turning purple. Night would fall soon.

 

I had been travelling in the Middle East and was now heading for one of the fabled walled cities. I was looking forwards to a comfortable bed and a shower after the heat and dust of our trans-desert journey. In the distance I could see high hills rising above the city. Signs of human habitation became more f frequent and it was obvious that more feet had passed this way recently. I quickened my pace. My guide was bringing my luggage on the camel so I only had my most precious belongings in my shoulder bag, which was becoming increasingly heavy with every step I took.

 

I walked up to the huge door which was closed. My eyes scanned its intricately decorated surface for some means of opening it but there didn’t seem to be any. I ran my fingers over the ancient carvings hoping to find some way of springing the opening mechanism. I was suddenly aware I was being watched. I stepped back a couple of paces and looked around me. No-one but the sense of being watched persisted. “Have you tried knocking?” asked a voice from above me. I looked up but could only see a bright-eyed hawk perched on the apex of the stonework surrounding the door.

“Pardon?”

“I said, have you tried knocking, isn’t that what you usually do when confronted by a closed door?”

“Er, no, actually I didn’t knock.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

By this time the bird had flown down and alighted at my feet.

“You’re a talking bird?”

“well, yes, isn’t it obvious by now?”

I have to admit I’m not used to conversing with birds so this did seem a little strange. I stepped closer to the door and struck it with a resounding blow that hurt my hand like Hell. After a while the door opened slowly inwards. I looked at the bird again but it appeared to have lost interest in me and was carefully scrutinising one of its feet. I could see nothing in the dimness beyond. “The door is open, you can go in now. You are expected” and then “well, hurry up then, it’s getting late” and with that it flew off leaving me somewhat surprised to say the least.

 

I stepped through into the cool darkness and then took another couple of steps. I expected to come out into some sort of main street that would lead to the Mdina or centre of the city or into a shady courtyard with a fountain tinkling somewhere in the distance. Instead I found myself on what looked like a giant checkerboard with a huge dice on the ground in front of me, with a label on it that said “shake me”. I looked at the dice again and tried to pick it up – no small feat as it was at least one foot square. In the end all I managed to do was drop it back on the ground where it rolled to a stop with 6 dots uppermost. I walked 6 squares forwards and there, on the coloured square that had appeared was the message “advance 3 squares to the fountain. Drink a glass of sherbet and reflect”.

 

I did as instructed and found a delicate glass of cool, bubbling sherbert awaiting me on the parapet of the tiled fountain. I downed it gratefully and rubbed the cool glass over my heated skin. I was tired and in no mood for playing games. “Reflect” what was that supposed to mean? I looked down into the fountain expecting to see my own travel-weary face. Instead, all I could see appeared to be an ancient map of sorts. As I leaned closer a blue line which I had taken to be a river began to pulsate. Various buildings were depicted on the map but I couldn’t work out what they were and by now, I had no idea where I was.

I had fallen under the enchanteur’s spell once more.

 

I looked around me, this time paying a bit more attention to my surroundings. To my right was another door with what looked like a tree painted around it. I glanced at the map again and this time saw a similar door with the pulsating blue river flowing through it. I concluded that this was the route I was supposed to take. I reached down and scooped up some of the water in my cupped hands, drank a deep draught and swept my cool, wet hands over my face. How refreshing. I picked up my bag again and headed towards the door.

A movement in its painted branches attracted my attention. There was my friendly hawk again. It cast a cursory glance at me and finished its meal of desert rat before flying over to greet me again.

 “I am to be your spirit guide on this new journey of yours. My name is Horus.”

“er, delighted to meet, I’m sure. My name is Traveller”. The bird nodded “I know,” and “come this way, you have travelled a long way today and need rest before you join the others tomorrow.”

“Others? what others?” I’d seen no trace of any other travellers for days now. Along with my guide I seemed to have been the only human on earth. The hawk flew off a few paces ahead of me. “Follow this street to the crossroads, turn right and enter the blue house.” A few moments later I found myself standing in front of a house painted a startling sky blue. The door was open so I walked into a courtyard filled with masses of plants and almost fainted from the heady smell emanating from the orange blossom and night-flowering jasmine shrubs.  Cushioned sofas lined the perimeter of the courtyard and I sank down gratefully on to one of them. Lost in thought I hardly noticed the soft pad of feet until they stopped in front of me. I looked up into the face of a young girl with huge doe-like deep brown eyes fringed with huge eyelashes. She wore jewelled slippers and a robe of semi-translucent fabric the colour of a sun-ripened melon, a true desert beauty. She salaamed me and indicated that I should follow her. Bells tinkled at her ankles as I followed her up a flight of stairs on to a carved wooden balcony that ran around the first floor of the internal courtyard. She stopped in front of the door in the corner, produced a huge key from somewhere within the voluminous folds of her garments and turned it in the lock. The door swung open and she led me into a room with lime-washed white walls. A heavy curtain hung in front of the window. A wooden framed bed was set against one wall, piled high with exotically coloured cushions. Through another half open door I could see a tiled bathroom. “Dinner will be served in half an hour” she said, “please make yourself at home.” No sooner had she closed the door after her than I began to explore my new surroundings. Pictures on the wall contained small pieces of mirror in which were reflected the candles I could now see had been lit in various niches set in the walls. A beautiful “chandelier” hung from the ceiling whose coloured glass bowls sent a thousand coloured lights dancing across the uneven white walls. The bathroom proved to be heaven on earth – I could almost have swum in the huge tiled bath that had rose petals floating on the surface of the water. I threw off my clothes and stepped gratefully down into the water, submerging myself completely. I scrubbed furiously at my skin with the loofah before climbing out again feeling wonderfully refreshed. I dried myself and put on the clothes that some unknown person had laid out for me – a soft, white wool kaftan with a blue border and dark red leather sandals with upturned pointed toes. I made my way downstairs and found a table set for two people under a lemon tree. As it was the only table in sight I sat down. All of a sudden the hawk alighted on the back of the other chair. “Bon appétit” it wished me in perfect, accentless French – enjoy your meal. I can’t remember when I had enjoyed a meal so much; the novelty of my experiences and intriguing surroundings doubtless lent piquancy to the culinary delights placed before me: succulent stuffed dates, golden apricots, stuffed vine leaves and a goblet of the coldest well water I’d ever drunk. The hawk waited in silence while I ate my fill. “Rest well, Traveller, you should be ready to leave at dawn with the others tomorrow.” All these references to the others made me both curious and uneasy. Who were the others?

Lemurian archipelago – a visit to my own island

The enchantress has waved her magic wand again and each of us now has an island in the Lemurian archipelago. Mine is called Laroc.

Yesterday I went to visit it. Alec, who had taken me to White Owl Island, very kindly agreed to take me there. As it happened it’s close to where he had left some of his lobster pots so he was happy to take me as it gave him a chance to see if he had caught anything. The island is close to the mainland but not close enough to swim across to it nor to walk across the strand at low tide. It’s small – you can walk round it in a couple of hours – but is home to a host of seabirds, a particularly rare vole and masses of wild flowers. There is only one small pebbly cove and a single white painted cottage with blue window frames sits huddled up under the cliff for protection from the occasional spells of bad weather.
Alec dropped me off and said he would return for me, after having checked his pots. The pebbles scrunched under my feet and brought back childhood memories of one particular Easter seaside holiday.

My parents had rented a holiday cottage at a place called Bee Sands on the North Devon Coast. We were quite a houseful with my parents, my younger sister and brother, three of our cousins and me. I must have been about 12. The cottage was right on the beach, which was a shingle beach. I remember that the weather was not particularly kind to us but that didn’t stop us from spending hours on the beach collecting shells, coloured pebbles and sea glass and returning to the cottage with our wellington boots full of water. They never had time to dry out before the next soaking and there was always a row of boots with newspaper stuck in them by the door. The cousins showed us endless card tricks and we spent a lot of time sketching. Cousin Robin went on to become a graphics artist and my sister is now a well-known watercolour and mixed media artist in the US. My brother and I, whilst we could both draw and paint, didn’t possess the skill of our sister or of our cousin.

I looked down at my feet as I crossed the shingle and knew I could spend hours here, beachcombing, too. Coloured bits of glass caught my eye and I bent down to pick some of them up and tucked them away in one of my pockets. If I wrapped each piece in wire I could fashion a sort of necklace with them. I walked up the beach to the cottage and went in.

It was warm and dry inside. White painted walls and cheerful red and white checked curtains greeted me. There was a fireplace with a fire already laid in it, a table, a chair, a bed with a colourful patchwork quilt on it and a small cooking range. Someone must have been expecting me for the kettle was singing merrily on the hob and a china mug had been set out nearby. A stone jar, with a handwritten label marked “inspiration tea”, contained a number of muslin bags with crushed dried leaves inside. I sniffed one but couldn’t identify the smell. Even when I poured the boiling water over the little bag I didn’t immediately recognise it. It was only when I had taken a couple of mouthfuls that I realised that it reminded me of cinnamon and chocolate.

A driftwood sculpture – a sort of figure I guessed to be a representation of the spirit of the place with seaweed for its “hair” – hung on the wall and there was a pile of driftwood in a basket near the hearth.

I carried the mug of “inspiration tea” outside and sat on the bench, leaning back against the cottage wall. It was warm in the sunshine and I nearly dozed off. I would endeavour to return here to spend a couple of days in writing and contemplation, if I could, before we moved off to the camp of the Amazon queen.

High above me the gulls carried on an incessant chattering and squabbling, the black and white guillemots were lined up against the cliffs facing each other in serried ranks and I caught the occasional glimpse of a puffin – or sea parrot as it is affectionately known because of its huge multi-coloured beak. The island was mined with rabbit holes which were also home to the puffins and you had to tread carefully if you did not want to end up with a twisted ankle from catching your foot in one of these holes. Sea pinks covered the cliffs in their green pincushion tufts and the coconutty smell of the yellow gorse wafted over me.

I could hardly believe it when I heard Alec’s shout announcing his arrival. I rinsed the mug out and replaced it in the kitchen, closed the door behind me and walked down the beach to the little boat. Alec had two glossy blue lobsters in the bottom of the boat and was pleased with his catch. I too was pleased with my catch and the inspiration tea was already bubbling away inside me.

Sunday market day

Hello Travellers
It is Sunday Market Day over at the Enchanteur’s Island on the Archipelago and all passport carrying travellers are welcome to join in and participate freely. The Enchanteur has organised an Ozzie style bar-b-que and the Ferry Women are taking people across to show off their wares. Talent Scouts and Gallery owners will be there checking things out what is new and quirky. So if you have a piece, advertisement, photograph or idea that you want to put up for travellers of the Silk Road to see make for the Island post haste. One blog per person please.If in any doubt about the location of the Archipelago in relation to where you are in the realm check the map on the Grotto Blogger. It takes an hour by boat and five minutes by Raven. Pegasus does free rides on Market Day and if you say the right magic words he will come and take you.

Travellers from all corners of the realm will be making their way to the Island.

cheers
Heather

Two weeks in Duwamish

Dear Travellers
After having been on the road for eight weeks le Enchanteur has decided to let us stay in Duwamish for two weeks before moving on to the Lemurian Abbey for the performance in the banquet hall. By all accounts highwaymen have been marauding up and down the roads to the Abbey, kidnapping travellers and plundering and stealing things so it would not be a good idea to head down there for awhile. Hopefully they will get bored or the Amazonians will drum them out of the realm.So make yourselves comfortable here and consider whether you want to set up a peddlar’s cart and if you are up to the final part of the journey. The final leg will take you to the Abbey, to Baba Yaga’s and on, by caravans, across the little desert, by camel, to the Amazon Queen’s Camp. At the Amazon Queens camp there will be great celebrations and preparations for the 2005 Advent Calendar which will be released during the 25 days of December.

Of course, the two weeks in Duwamish will not be boring. There is a trip planned to the Lemurian Archipelago and faucon has some Gusari Magic that he is going to provide for those who visit the nearby Gusari encampment. Trust me! le Enchanteur is not going to miss the Gusari Camp.

Just as well the Abbey has been put back for a few weeks is all I can say.

Night now thrill seekers
Heather

Out and about in Duwamish

Hello Everyone
I am not sure what you are all up to, how you are filling in your time in Duwamish but there are lots of ‘activities’ to choose from.

Let’s see: The Duwamish Curiosity Shop has opened in the Duwamish Cemetery. It is inside a Mausoleum with an amazing angel, rescued from New Orleans, gracing the door. http://catamid.blogspot.com/ The Curiosity Shop will be a most interesting place to visit if the creator of ‘Duwamish’, Anita Marie Moscoso is up to her usual tricks. And given the story about Ballast Island I figure she is firing on all cylinders right now.

Then we have the Gusari encampment in a glade not far from the Gypsies. Ken (faucon) is offering fabulous stuff for us about these ancient wanderers and is even offering, as a Gusari, to provide private reading. Too good to miss!
http://gusari.blogspot.com/ I will be sending out invitations to join this later tonight but first Ken and I have to get some links right so that you can read up on the Gusari.

Apart from this a boat ride is planned for later in the week which will take us past the eerie Ballast Island and on to the Lemurian Archipelago where travellers will be able to spend time being creative on their own magic island tops, in custom prepared boat style sheds.

And Hermitage Publications will be providing an evening at the inn and you will be able to learn more about what is offering from them.

Last but not least travellers who have not been to the Isle of Ancestors may just want to get to the ferry and go on this once in a life time journey.
http://isleofancestors.blogspot.com/ this is not something you miss.

Whooo whooo said the White Owl as she dipped her wings and flew back towards White Owl Island.

Cheers
Heather

Baba Yaga’s handmaidens

This picture sums up for me what we are as doorkeepers/handmaidens. The sculpture, by Auguste Rodin, is entitled the ‘cathedral’. The hands are protective, enfolding, offering sanctuary. All who enter our doors will find peace from the world outside and inspiration for their lives.

White Owl Island

Shortly before 4pm I picked up my swansdown cape and my little pouch and set off for the quay.

It turned out that Madame Livia had been in communication with the Enchantress while I was in her bookshop and, by some special arrangement between the Enchantress and the Magiratha, had managed to organise a trip for me to White Owl Island to meet the Magiratha. She had told me to be at the harbour at 4 o’clock and to look for a boat with a white owl painted on it. So here I was, punctual to the minute, looking around for the boat.

The little boat was easy to spot and I walked eagerly to the edge of the quay and announced my presence to the young fisherman in the boat. He told me his name was Alec and that he would take me out to the island. His mop of brown curly hair lifted slightly in the breeze and a huge smile lit his sun-burned face when he talked. I handed him 5 owlets – special coins with a picture of an owl on them – the price of my trip.

He pushed the boat away from the quay and we were off. I installed myself in the bow of the boat and wrapped my swansdown cape around me to keep me warm and dry. Although it had been warm enough on shore, now out at sea there was a distinct chill. The water was a deep blue with little crests of white. Tall cliffs loomed on our left and sea birds called to us as we passed.

We were in open water now and headed towards a small dot on the horizon. Alec increased the speed of the boat and we soon reached the cliffs of White Owl Island. He took the boat into a small cove with a small rocky quay at which he anchored and helped me to climb out of the boat. He told me to make my way up the cliff path and I would be met. He told me that he would be waiting for me when I returned.

I slowly walked up the path, not really knowing what to expect. I soon became aware of a whisper of wings in the air and looked up to see first one and then two and then three snowy owls hanging in the air above me. They greeted me with soft tuwit tuwhoos and their big yellow eyes gleamed like lamps in the now setting sun. As I neared the top of the path I could see the outline of a woman silhouetted against the sky.

She waited until I had reached the top and then took my hands in hers. “Welcome to White Owl Island. I am here to take you to meet the Magiratha (or Owl as she is also known). Please come with me.” By now the sun had gone down completely and the sky was lit with the most fabulous sunset.

Glow worms started to light up along our path and the moon slowly rose in the sky, a bright orange harvest moon. I hadn’t realised until now that there would be a full moon this night. I could still hear the whisper of wings and knew that the owls were keeping us company. We were walking along a path of springy turf, which I guessed would be home to a multitude of rabbits by day. The sky was beginning to light up as the stars came out. It was going to be an exceptionally clear night. The woman’s warm hand squeezed my own as she urged me on. My heartbeat quickened.

At length we came to an elevation with a single stone in the middle and a rowan tree. Four priestesses were waiting. After a short ceremony during which the stone was anointed with honey and a star sapphire touched to my forehead I was led to the entrance of the labyrinth. I passed between the stones that form the entrance. I bore in my mind the thought that a labyrinth is not a maze. “It’s more of a spiral. A journey with no false passages. No blind alleys. Walking in a maze we could be lost. Walking a spiral path requires only the knowledge that it is a path and not a maze. The road may curve. Directions may change. Sometimes we’ll be walking the opposite direction for a while”. After only a few minutes I emerged in the centre.

The White Owl was standing before me. I bowed before her holding my hands, palms upwards, towards her. The question I wished to ask her is hovering at the back of my mind. She said softly “I am a mirror to those who come through the winding way. I vow to be the sealer as well as the revealer. What is your question?”

“How can I make the most of this journey?” The owl gave me this blessing: “travel with your eyes and ears open. Listen to the wind. Be aware. Speak not only with your mouth but your heart. You will see much and you should spread the word of what you have experienced. Go in peace with the wind oh daughter”.

I thanked her with all my heart and left her a handful of seed pearls in reconnaissance. Unnoticed, the priestesses had followed me through the labyrinth and now led me out, along the turf path and back to the small stone jetty where Alec was waiting for me. As he took me back to Duwamish the sun was just rising, streaking the sky with crimson, pink and gold.

“I will go where the wild goose goes, on wings of joy, winging ever south to my heart’s desire.”

North Star Studios and the bookshop of chaos

I decided to visit the North Star Studios first. The blurb said that it was governed by Providence and that you had to make a wish. I was so busy wondering what I could wish that I bumped into the rickety garden gate knocking it right of its hinges. I immediately knew what my wish would be – I had the perfect gate at home sitting unused in a corner of the garden. I could wish its immediate transfer here, only after checking with the gallery owner of course, that such a gift would be welcomed.

I walked up the path through a truly exuberant garden and stopped to look in the window which was filled with mouth watering treasures – some raku sculptures, a magnificent ceramic torso and a Japanese doll. I couldn’t wait to get inside.

The magic was upon me already. I stepped in to find a veritable Aladdin’s cave of goodies ranging from wooden sculptures through glassware to jewellery, each piece more beautiful than the last. In a corner I found a silver horse prancing on a bed of uncut amethyst crystals. I just had to have that and duly asked the gallery owner if she would be kind enough to keep it for my return. It was only with difficulty that I tore myself away but I did want to visit the bookshop and the Wunderkabinett (the Old Curiosity Shop).

Madame Livia’s Bookshop of Chaos was only a couple of blocks away. The doorway was very small and it was quite a squeeze to get in. Was the owner trying to discourage visitors from entering or leaving? Inside there were books everywhere, not just on the shelves but in tottering piles on the floors, a small table was completely hidden under a mountain of books and magazines and revues appeared to be in imminent danger of sliding off the chair on which they had been temporarily piled.

Madame Livia’s appearance was as chaotic as her name. There was more than a hint of gypsy in her I thought. Her hair flowed around her in wild abandon and she was wearing the most exotic collection of jewellery – huge earrings, a veritable cascade of necklaces and bangles on both arms. In fact, she was wearing so much that the various bits of jewellery clinked against each other and tinkled like a myriad of bells whenever she moved. She wore layer upon layer of tiered skirts in a bewildering patchwork of colours and textures. I felt sure she must be related to Madame Eclectica in some way.

She scanned me shrewdly as I carefully made my way into the shop. “Greetings Traveller. Welcome to my little world of literary chaos”. How was it that everyone in this land seemed to know my name? “Hello” I said and “thank you. Please tell me, how do you know my name?” “I can read it in your face” was her slightly unnerving reply. “You have been travelling for quite a while now and your adventures are leaving indelible traces on your face but only the aware can read them”. I was beginning to think she must be related to Madame Rosa, the fortune teller, as well as Baba Yaga and all the rest and to suspect some sort of conspiracy. Were they all one and the same person but appearing in different manifestations in the different places we went to? I think I might have to have a quiet word with the Enchantress when I can finally nail her down. She seems to be so elusive these days.

I explained about the jigsaw puzzle map and asked her if she had any books on cartography. She told me to go and look under a dusty aspidistra plant in the back of the shop. “Would you like a cup of herbal nonsense while you are looking around?” she enquired. I replied that I would be delighted to taste a cup of herbal nonsense. She disappeared out to the back of the shop. When she returned a little later, Madame Livia was carrying a tray with two cups of herbal nonsense on it and a plate of fairy cakes. When I went to take one, the fairy sitting on the top of the cake flew off leaving a trail of fairy dust in the form of multi-coloured hundreds and thousands sprinkled on the top of the cake.

illustration of a fairy cake

The cake and the drink were delicious. “Do you know anything about White Owl Island?” I enquired casually as I drained my cup of herbal nonsense. “Indeed I do. Why, would you be interested in visiting it?” I told her what my research had turned up and explained that I was fascinated by these old rituals and would very much like to meet the Magiratha if that could be arranged. She told me she would see what she could do.

I continued browsing through the shelves which contained many interesting volumes. I picked up a book of beautiful floral illustrations and hastily put it back again when a picture of nettles stung me where I had been foolish enough to touch the page. I was lost in contemplation of some of the illustrations in another book when she came bustling back into the shop. “It’s all arranged” she beamed, “you can go to White Owl Island this afternoon. Alec will pick you up at the quay at 4 o’clock.” I thanked her and headed off to the Duwamish Inn as I still hadn’t checked in, which I thought I ought to do if I was likely to be out all night. The Innkeeper recognised me from my very brief previous visit and showed me to my room on the first floor in the turret from where I had a wonderful view over the harbour.

Journey to Duwamish

I was sitting in the garden at Baba Yaga’s when a raven brought me the invitation to spend a couple of days in Duwamish. My last visit there had been so short, hardly a visit at all as I was in a hurry to catch up with the rest of my group. In fact had had no chance to visit the Isle of Ancestors or even have a look round. I had also heard that there was a wonderful bookshop there and an art gallery.

It didn’t take me long to pack up my things and as they weren’t heavy and I knew that Duwamish wasn’t too far away I decided I would walk. I needed the exercise after sitting over my spinning and weaving for many hours at a time. There was an autumnal feel to the air as I set off. Fire tipped the leaves of the trees and cobwebs strung between the trees were hung with crystals, sparkling in the early morning sunlight, from the heavy dew. I saluted the spiders in their webs as I passed, now conscious of the invaluable work they do.

Eventually I came to the stream that I knew would lead me down into Duwamish Bay. The water chuckled and gurgled as it splashed down the rocky bed causing rainbows to dance in the spray. Altogether it felt good to be alive. Even the birds in the thickets along my way were singing their hearts out.

At length I reached the village and looked curiously around me, for it was the first time I would have had the chance to look around. Immediately ahead of me was a sign announcing the presence of ‘Ye Olde Tea Shoppe’ with the most enticing smells wafting out from it. I went in and chose a corner table near the window, from where I could view the comings and goings of people. After sitting down and ordering a pot of Earl Grey tea. I picked up several of the leaflets that had been left on the table. The first was a guide to the more interesting shops in Duwamish. The North Star Studios immediately caught my eye as did Madame Livia’s Bookshop of Chaos. There was also something called the Enchanter’s Wunderkabinett. I would certainly try to visit all three of these. The second leaflet bore a picture of a magnificent snowy owl and advertised private boat trips to White Owl Island, by special arrangement with the Enchantress. The third one advertised boat trips to the Isle of Ancestors. Duwamish was obviously a fascinating place and I wasn’t sure I would be able to fit everything in. The White Owl Island trips only started in the early evening so I would have plenty of time to explore to my heart’s content.

dolphin bath and rumour have it

Take you time and play with the Dolphins and visit that restless city Vi spoke of. We have a largish group going into the cave and coming down the road so we might just stay put until everyone has got here.
There is much to do. Gypsies to visit and baths to take and I do declare, I have heard a rumour, brought by ravens, that a Shakespearean Theatre has opened in the Golden Seed Grove. Stay tuned for details. It is scheduled to open on September 1. So dust off your good clothes, find a carriage and get yourself there. It is near the Lemurian Abbey. You won’t miss it! The place will be aflood with candle light.
love
Sibyl
who is dressing for the opening.