Pagan Children's Stories

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Mother Berhta's Coming to Town
by Steven Posch

You've heard of Mother Berhta, right? Every year, during the season of Yule, there she is, leering from every billboard and greeting card, riding her goat Gnasher Skeggi with greasy old sack slung over her shoulder, brimming with wonderful presents. But it could be filled instead with squirming, cauldron-bound children. With Mother Berhta, you can never tell for sure.
    Oh, I've heard about the old days, before Berhta made it big. Pagan households were few and far between in those times. Berhta was not a baby-napper back then.
    Back in the old days, too, the days would grow cold and the nights would grow long, and suddenly it would be Mother Night, the night that gives birth to the rest of the year - also know as Midwinter's Eve, the longest night of all. From out of the darkness, you would hear the sound of bells, which meant You Know Who was coming. And sure enough, soon there'd be a pounding on the door to make the windows rattle, the door would fly open, and in would stride Mother Berhta, like an indoor blizzard.
    "Good Yule, you Yule-time fools!" she hollers, dropping the goatskin sack on the floor, and dragging out the feast. And oh, what a feast! Roast goose stuffed with chestnuts, turkey with wild rice dressing, plum puddings, cranberries, pizza - whatever it is that you most like to eat. Berhta brings more food than anyone can eat in all thirteen nights of Yule, much less one sitting.
    Then, with an ear-to-ear grin, old Mother B holler, "Come 'ere ya old goat!" and Gnasher Skeggi prances innocently. Berhta then grabs him by the forelock and pulls his head back, and pht! The athame flashes and the goat's throat is cut, neat as you please! Mother Berhta is not a goddess for the faint=hearted. In a jiffy, she guts him and skins him and chops him into little pieces to throw in the cauldron with some onion, a little garlic, some sage, a pinch of rosemary. Et voila! Goat stew!
    And just as everyone sits down to eat, Mother Berhta tosses her old goatskin sack down on the floor right next to the table, yelling: "Throw the bones in here and don't break any!"
    Of course as we eat we are careful to do just as she asked. When the feast is over, Berhta grabs the sack and gives it a shake, and in a voice to wake the dead she bellows, "Come on out, you old goat!" and sure enough, out capers Gnasher Skeggi, just as raunchy and as randy as ever. Mother Berhta slings the sack over her shoulder, hops up onto Skeggi's back, and off she goes.
    And don't forget the presents. Along with the feast out of her sack come presents like you've never seen before, in all shapes, colors, sizes, and styles.
    Of course, it went this way for I don't know how many years, until one day everything changed. A little boy, whose name I'm afraid nobody remembers anymore, broke on e of the bones when throwing it back into Berhta's sack. So when Berhta gave the sack a big shake and hollered, "Come on out, you old goat!" Out hobbled poor old Gnasher Skeggi on three legs, looking not at all happy.
    Well! In all those years of Berhta, nobody had ever seen her quite as angry as this. "you imbeciles!" She yelled. "Now I'll have to carry my goat instead of riding him!" - which, of course, is where that expression comes from, if you've ever heard it before.
    Before anybody realized what was happening, Berhta had grabbed the little bone-breaker by the scruff of his neck and stuffed him into her sack just like that. Then, slinging the sack over one shoulder and Skeggi over the other, she tromped out into the dark. I'm sure I don't need to tell ou that nobody ever saw that little boy again. And now, on midwinter's eve, when the door flies open and Mother Berhta comes storming into your living room, you never know for sure whether she's going to dump gifts out of her sack - or stuff little kids in!

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Stone Soup
by Elspeth Sapphire

In another time, in a place far from where we sit, a traveler walked the paths of the earth. He moved from one place to another ... never staying long and never leaving a village, or her people, unchanged.

You see, he gathered wisdom and knowledge. Sometimes the traveler would learn from the elderly and sometimes from the babes ... sometimes from the mother worried about her household and sometimes from the warrior fresh from battle. Each had their story and the traveler always quietly listened.

With calm suggestions and stories of the gods and other places, the traveler managed to plant seeds of new wisdom.

One day, his travels took him through a land almost barren. The trees were twisted and showed little sign of bearing fruit. The land was brown with just a few stalks of grain standing upright.

The traveler paused, gazing about him, shaking his head. The sky was clear ... a river ran pure and strong. The feeling here was bleak ... but it also felt like something done by man.

A short walk away was a small village. The stone buildings were as poorly kept as the land.

What could the problem be?

A glance at the sky revealed it was towards midday, and the traveler stepped up to knock at a closed and shuttered door. Perhaps over a meal, he could find out what had happen in this place.

"GO AWAY!"

The traveler started to hear such harsh tones in answer to a simple knock. "I am a simple traveler and I was wondering if you might have some bread and ale to spare. I can pay for what I eat...."

A small viewing window in the door opened and a woman peered out. "Stranger, I have enough for my own family, and none to spare. So begone!" The peephole slammed shut.

This was indeed strange, since most people were eager for coin and any news a stranger might bring.

After getting the same response to several more knocks, the traveler paused to think about what to do. Finally, he began to smile.

Pulling the hood of his cloak forward to shade his face, he started to collect wood from the ground. Building a small fire in the middle of the village square, a pot was filled with water and set to heat.

Feeling people watching from the windows around him, the traveler took out two stones. One was the darkest black and the other purest white. With a smile, he dropped them into the pot.

Next went two pieces of bone ... bone so old that the edges were dry and splintered.

Humming a merry song, he started to stir the mixture ... and waited.

Slowly ... very slowly ... people began to leave the buildings and walked towards the stranger and his fire.

"Hey! What do you think you are doin'?" one man demanded.

An elderly man leaned over the pot, balancing on his stick. "Stones and bones?!" his high voice asked. "You can't make soup out of those! Any fool knows that well!"

A small boy settled down at the traveler's side, smiling up at the stranger. "How wonderful! I never heard of stone and bone soup before!"

Sparing a smile for the boy, the traveler looked out at the villagers with a very bland look. "Then I must be a fool, for I am making such a soup." He stirred it again, paused for a taste. "In some places that I have traveled, stone soup is quite a tasty dish." Satisfied with the taste, the traveler continued to stir the water. "Tell me.... What happened to this place? The fields are barren and the people unfriendly."

In the uproar that followed, it was hard to weed out the facts. The tale of feuds and hoarding and unneighborly behavior had the traveler sighing. He tasted the 'broth' again, and again sighed. "If only I had some potatoes," he stated. "With potatoes, this would be fit for a king!"

The boy tugged at the stranger's clothing. "Swen has potatoes. I know he does. He brags about it."

All eyes went to the one named Swen. Swen turned a bright red. "Yes, I do, but my family..... " The eyes stayed on him and finally, he shrugged sheepishly. "I will fetch some potatoes...."

Cut up, the potatoes were a wonderful addition to the soup, but soon the traveler was looking wistful. "If I only had some onions... Can you just imagine what flavour they would add?"

A stout housewife smiled. "I have a few onions ... just a moment!" She hurried away and returned with an armful of onions. "Here ye go!"

The onions were quickly added, as were carrots, leeks, dried meat, and milk. Each time the traveler mentioned a food, the boy whispered who had hidden hoards of the food. Finally with a dusting of salt and spices, the traveler declared that the soup was done.

"Of course, soup is only part of a meal .... It takes bread and ale to fill it out," the traveler proclaimed. "And of course, good company. Go ... bring your families and bread and drink ... and we will feast together!"

The villagers looked around at each other, then shyly smiled. Nodding their agreement, they left to gather together their families. Soon only the young boy was left at the stranger's side.

Peering up, the boy asked a question that was bothering him. "It is such a small kettle .... How will it be enough to feed the whole village?"

The traveler chuckled, then laughed. "Small one ... trust in the gods and in miracles." Laughter continued to dance in the stranger's one eye. "Everyone will be fed."

And so it was. The soup was shared and pronounced excellent. Ale flowed into each cup and there was plenty of bread.

When everyone was full and feeling merry, the traveler stood. "I must leave you now, even though you have fine ale. But think on this after I depart.... Together we made a good soup. Just think what else you could gain by being one people! Look around you ... do you wish to go on like this? Or by each of you contributing what you can make this village a happy place to live."

There was a silence as his words fell into their hearts. With a final grin for the young boy, the traveler strode away and was soon out of sight.

The villagers took his words to heart and the small community became a fine place to live.

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Monacca and the Albino Redwood
Retold b Bernyce Barlow

About 400 years ago, along the coast of Big Sur, California, lived a young Indian maiden whose name ws Monacca. Monacca's family belonged to the Esselen tribe, who considered the coast of Big Sur thier homeland. During the day, members of Monacca's tribe would hunt sea otter for food and fur along the rocky shoreline. At night, they returned to themighty Redwood forests where they lived.
    The Redwood trees were majestic. Their massive cinnamon-brown trunks and verdant green needles dominated the forest. Only the luckiest of sun rays could reach the forest floor because the groves were so dense. Monacca's grandmother told her the Redwoods were very wise and had seen many things during their long lives.
    Near Monacca's home grew a very special redwood tree. Its branches and needles were pure white instead of green. The leaders of the tribe said the tree was special because it was different, and treated the Redwood with great respect. They also said that on a moonlit night, the glow of the albino redwood could be seen from the heavens.
    One late summer afternoon, Monacca was picking sweet berries for her mother. many of the berries had already been harvested throughout the summer. Because there were so few berries along the creek, Monacca decided to go deeper into the forest.
    Monacca's family had often warned her about wandering too far from home, that the forest could be too much of a challenge for a lost girl. But Monacca carefully looked at her surroundings, memorizing certain rocks and trees as landmarks, just in case she lost her way. She even made some trail markers pointing toward home. Confident she had taken every precaution, Monacca set out to fill her basket with spring berries.
    The redwood groves were like giant umbrellas keeping the heat of late summer out. It was difficult to know what time of day it was in the forest because the sun was always blocked out by the taller trees. By the time Monacca reached the spring berries it was later than she thought. She knew there was no time to waste because it would soon be too dark to see her markers. She quickly filled her basket to the rim and started down the trail, but she was too late. The forest was almost pitch black.
    Monacca shivered when she thought about the forest animals that ate the berries and hoped they did not care for little girls. Monacca could hear twigs snapping and night critters prowling about, owls hooting and leaves rustling, but she could not see a thing. she wished she had taken her family's warning about wandering off more seriously.
    As the hours passed, Monacca thought about her mother and father an how much she missed them. She remembered the stories the elders would tell around the night fires. She filled her mind with these stories so she would not think about the scary sound all around her. As Monacca thought about the legends, a full harvest moon was rising above the valley floor. It illuminated a nearby ridge that stood high over the forest. The moonglow reminded Monacca of the story of the albino redwood and how it could be seen from the tallest of mountains, even from the heavens on a moonlit night.
    This gave Monacca an idea. If the sacred tree could be seen from the heavens, surely it could be seen from the ridge, and the tree was right by her home. Monacca quickly hiked toward the ridge. The moon was so bright once she got above the treeline that she could see reasonably well. With hope in her heart, she climbed to the top.
    When Monacca reached the summit of the ridge and looked down on the valley floor she saw one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen. In the distance, a shimmering tower of silver seemed to be dancing with the moonbeams. It was the albino redwood, piercing the darkness of the forest like a dagger of light, illuminating the way home. Monacca smiled for the first time that night. Soon she would be with her family.
    By following the top of the ridge and using the white redwood as a landmark, Monacca finally found herself above the night fires of her community. All she had to do now was follow the sparks and flicker through the forest, and she would finally be safe at home.
    When Monacca's family saw her, they cried tears of joy. They knew the dangers of the forest and had feared the worst. Monacca told everyone how she became lost and how the albino redwood guided her back to safety. She also said how sorry she was for worrying her family.
    Monacca's adventure had made her very tired. There were only a few hours until the sun came up. so she lay down on her bed and fell asleep quickly. In her dreams she knew and sang melodies that belonged to the windsongs that whistled through the branches of the mighty white redwood. From that night on, Monacca understood the specialness of the albino redwood and treated the tree with the respect it deserved.

The Yule Faeries
by D. J. Conway

    A group of little faeries huddled in their home deep under the roots of a giant oak tree. They were safe and snug in their tiny underground cave lined with dandelion fluff, bird feathers, and dried moss. Outside, the wind blew cold and the snow fell softly down to cover the gournd.
    "I saw the Sun King today," the faery named Rose said as she pulled her mossy cloak tighter around her. "He looked so old and tired as he walked off through the forest. What is wrong with him?"
    "The great oak said he's dying," answered Daffodil.
    "Dying? Oh, what will we do now?" Little Meadow-Grass started to cry. "If the Sun King dies, our little plant-friends will not grow. The birds will not come and sing again. Everything will be winter forever!"
    Lilac, Dandelion, and Elder Blossom tried to comfort their friend, but they were all very sad. As they huddled together, there was a knock on the tiny door.
    "Open up, fairies," called out a loud voice. "Why are you hiding instead of joining us in our Solstice celebration?"
    Rose opened the door and the little gnome Brown Knobby pushed inside, shaking the glistening snowflakes off his brown coat and hat.
    "We are too sad to celebrate," Daffodil said, wiping her eyes. "The Sun King is dying. Haven't you heard?"
    "He's dead, you silly faeries." Brown Knobby's round dark eyes sparkled with laughter. "Now hurry, or we'll be late for the celebration."
    "How can you be happy and laughing!" Elder Blossom stomped her little foot and frowned at the gnome. "If the Sun King is dead, it will be winter always. We will never see the Sun again."
    "Silly little child-faeries." Brown Knobby grabbed Dandelion by the hand and pulled her to her feet. "There is a secret to the Winter Solstice. Don't you want to know what it is?"
    The faeries looked at him in surprise. "Secret?" the all said. "What secret? We are only new little faeries, you silly gnome. We've never been to a Solstice celebration before."
    "Come and see. Come and see. Get your capes and come with me." Brown Knobby danced and jigged around the room. "Hurry, hurry, don't be slow! To the sacred grove through the snow!" He danced out of the door and disappeared.
    "What did that gnome mean?" Rose asked as she gathered up her cloak of dried rose petals held together with cobwebs and lined with goose down.
    "I don't know, but the Lady lives in the sacred grove." Meadow-Grass pulled on her hat. "Perhaps if we go to see the Goddess, She can explain what Brown Knobby was talking about."
    The faeries left their snug little home and trudged off through the snow toward the sacred oak grove. The forest was dark with only the light of the Moon shining down through the thick fir branches and bare limbs of maple and hawthorn. It was very difficult for them to get through the snow because they were very, very small. As they waded through the wet snow and shivered in the cold wind, they met a fox.
    "Where are you going, faeries?" the fox asked.
    "To the sacred grove," they answered. They were cold and shivering.
    "Climb on my back and I will take you there swiftly." The fox knelt down so the faeries could climb up. Then he raced off through the dark.
    "Listen!" Lilac said as they neared the grove of sacred trees. "Someone is singing happy songs. A lot of someones."
    The beautiful music carried over the cold, still, moonlit air. It was the most beautiful music the faeries had ever heard. The fox carried the faeries right to the edge of the stone altar in the center of the grove, then knelt down.
    "Look!" said Elder Blossom as they slid to the snow-covered ground. "There is the Maiden and the Mother and the Old Wise One. And many other Little People."
    "They are all smiling and happy," said Lilac as she looked around at all the creatures.
    "All the animals are here, too," whispered Dandelion. "Why are they all looking at the Mother?"
    The faeries moved closer to the three Ladies seated on the altar stone. The Mother held a bundle close in her arms, smiling down at it . The Maiden reached down and took the faeries gently in Her hands. She held them close to the Mother so they could see what She held.
    "A baby!" the faeries cried. "A new little baby! Look how he glows!"
    "He is the newborn Sun King," said the Maiden smiling.
    "But brown Knobby and the old oak tree said the Sun King was dead," the fairies answered Her. "How can this little baby be the Sun King?"
    "That is the secret of the Winter Solstice." the Old Wise One gently touched the baby's cheek with Her wrinkled hand. "Every year the old Sun King must come to the sacred grove during the darkest days of winter where he dies. I take his spirit to the Mother who gives him new life again. This is the way of life for all creatures, not just the Sun King."
    "You mean everything lives and dies and lives again?" The faeries looked down in wonder at the baby Sun King, nestled in the arms of the Mother.
    "Yes, Little Ones," answered the Old Wise One. "There is never an end to life. This is the great mystical secret of the Winter Solstice."
    The faeries laughed because they were so happy.
    "I think the little Sun King should have gifts," said Rose. "I will show him where the wild roses bloom in the early summer."
    "And I will teach him to call the birds and listen to the songs of the wind," exclaimed Dandelion.
    "When he is older and stronger," said the Mother, "then the flowers will bloom at his touch, the birds will return to sing their songs, the air will be warm from his breath, and winter will be gone for a time. Then the Sun King will run and play with you in the forest."
    The little faeries sang to the baby Sun King, songs of the coming spring, the sweet-smelling flowers, the bumbling bees, and all the secrets of the forest. And all the creatures within the sacred grove sang with them.
    Then the fox took them back to their snug home under the roots of the giant oak tree where they dreamed wonderful dreams, waiting for the warmth of spring and the fun they would have with the little Sun King.

The Silver Maid
by Marguerite Elsbeth

    Siberian shamans believe that stars are the "windows of the world." these are sky openings which provide air for the various celestial bodies. The Milky Way is one such "hole" of light. So, when the norther lights shimmer across the blackened sky, this Siberian folktale of how the milky way came into being is often told.
    There was once a Saami maid who ran very fast. many youths came courting, but she would run into the forest and no one could catch her. Yet there was one boy who was sure he could catch her and made up his mind to marry her.
    When he came calling, she ran into the forest as usual, and he gave chase. This time, the chase continued through the forest and across the plain. realizing that she was harder to catch than he thought, he forced the maid to run uphill. The maid reached the tip and disappeared into a dark puff of cloud.
    The young man lay on the frozen ground, his energy spent. When the maid saw that he was helpless, her fear turned into pity and she came out of her cloud to tend him.
    "What can I bring you?" she asked.
    "Water," he replied with rasping breath.
    There was no water on the hill, so the maid thought to revive him by squeezing several drops of breastmilk onto his lips. But the wind spread the milk across the sky and covered the maid also, turning her into a silver block of ice.
    When the youth opened his eyes, he saw the maid standing over him. She was as beautiful, graceful and bright as always, but solid as stone. Sad and confused, he returned to his village and there passed the days until his heart broke. You can still see the Silver Maid mirrored in the cold night sky and her mild splashed by the wind across the Milky Way.

The Wizard and the Spring Maiden
by D. J. Conway

    The winter snows still lay thick over the frozen ground and the cold wind whistled through the bare limbs of the trees. Even the new Sun felt cold to the little birds, who huddled together in the trees to stay warm.
    "The wizard isn't awake yet, is he?" asked a tiny chickadee.
    "No, the door to his house is still closed." A bluejay cocked her head and stared down at the little hill in the meadow below. "I haven't seen so much as a hair of his beard at the window either."
    "I wish the Maiden would awake. Then we would know spring will soon arrive." The chickadee fluffed his feathers as he looked off across the snow-covered fields.
    A gray squirrel suddenly poked his head out of a hole in the tree and chattered at the birds in a grumbling voice." What is all the noise out here?" he asked. "I'm trying to sleep, you silly birds!"
    "The wizard is still asleep, and the Maiden hasn't awakened yet," the chickadees answered all at one time. "Perhaps there will be no spring this year." The bluejay flew to a limb nearer the squirrel and looked at him with her black eyes.
    "Nonsense," the squirrel answered as he squeezed out of his hole to sit on the bare branch. "Spring always comes." He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then fluffed his tail with his paws.
    "We're so hungry," chirped the chickadees. "If the Maiden does not wake up soon, we will starve." The squirrel cocked his head, listening for the sweet song of the Maiden as She calls everything in the forest to begin waking up. He heard nothing but the whistle of the cold wind and the rattle of the bare tree branches.
    "This is the right time of year for the Maiden to wake and the young Sun King to dance through our forest," the squirrel said. He scratched his head as he thought. "I'll go wake the wizard and ask him if he knows why the maiden still sleeps."
    The squirrel dashed down the tree trunk and jumped out across the snow. In long leaps he ran across the ground until he reched the rocks surrounding the hidden door to the wizard's home. He stopped and listened, but he heard no movement within the hill-house.
    "Wake up! Wake up wizard!" The squirrel pounded on the door. "Sleepy old wizard," he grumbled to himself. "We need your help." He pounded again on the door with both paws.
    Green Leaf, the little gnome wizard, stirred restlessly in his downy bed. Someone was pounding on his door, making a terrible racket that echoed through the rooms and halls of his snug little hill-house. He opened one eye and looked around the room.
    One beam of pale sunlight crept through a crack in the shutters and lit up the face of the strange clock beside the wizard's bed. Instead of hours and minutes, the clock face had the names of the seasonal festivals: Imbolc, Spring Equinox, Beltane, Summer Solstice, Lunasad, Autumn Equinox, Samhain, and Winter Solstice.
    Green Leaf yawned, then opened both eyes to stare at the clock. "It's Imbolc!" he said as he sat up suddenly in bed. "I've overslept. Oh my, oh my."
    The little gnome wizard scrambled out of his warm nest of blankets and hurriedly dressed. The pounding on his door kept banging through the hill-house.
    "I'm coming," Green Leaf shouted as he hopped toward the door, pulling on his boots. He fumbled with the lock, finally opening the little door.
    "The Maiden is still asleep!" exclaimed the squirrel. "There are no lambs in the fields! The young Sun King hasn't arrived! Hurry wizard, hurry!"
    Green Leaf sighed as he put on his heavy green cloak and his tall pointed red hat. With his wooden staff in one hand, he trudged out into the snow and headed for the thickest part of the forest. Soon he was deep inside the bare tree trunks and snow-covered firs and pines.
    "I wish the Maiden would sleep in the same place each year." he grumbled, but he knew She didn't. It was his job each Imbolc to find Her sleeping place and wait there until the young Sun King arrived.
    Green Leaf searched and searched for the sleeping Maiden until at last he found Her curled up in the shelter of a hawthorn thicket. She looked so beautiful, Her long hair falling down over Her arms, that Green Leaf couldn't be grumpy anymore. he smiled, then raised his arms and began to sing his Imbolc greeting to the Sun King.
    The forest suddenly lit up with brilliant sunbeams as the young Sun King danced through the trees toward the gnome. The glow about Him was so bright that Green Leaf had to squint his eyes to see.
    "Blessed Imbolc, Green Leaf." The deep voice and loving smile of the Sun King warmed the little gnome wizard. "Blessed Imbolc, Lord," Green Leaf answered as he bowed to the Sun King. "I thought I was late."
    "No, my little friend. Everything in this world knows when Imbolc comes, all the animals and plants and even gnomes." The Sun King's smile lit up the trees around them. "Awake, my Lady," He said as He knelt to kiss the sleeping Maiden.
    The Maiden sat up, stretched Her arms, and smiled. "It is time for all the world to wake," She said, and the Sun King nodded as He helped her to her feet. They went off together through the forest, dancing to awaken the life-energy of the Earth.
    As Green Leaf trudged back through the snow to his hill-home, he could still hear the wake-up song of the Maiden and feel it spreading out through the world. Around him, the life-energy in the trees began to stir. Deep in the ground he could feel the little burrowing creatures starting to wake from their winter sleep. The gnome wizard crossed the meadow where the sheep were and found the first of the newborn wobbly-legged spring lambs blinking in the sunlight.
    "Welcome to the world," Green Leaf said to the little lamb. "Soon everything will be wide awake and growing. The grass will be sweet and green, and you will have other little lambs to play with." The lamb and its mother looked at the gnome wizard and blinked their eyes.
    "Yes, the life-energy from the Maiden is once more running through the world, making everything new," Green Leaf said as he tramped down the path to his house. Suddenly, he felt the energy flowing through his own body. He leaped into the air and clicked his heels together in joy. "The Maiden is awake!" he shouted to the squirrel and the birds waiting for him near his door.
    Green Leaf went back inside his hill-house and hung up his cloak and hat. "Now I am going to have a cup of tea, then go back to bed and have a nap until Spring Equinox." And that little gnome wizard did just that.

The Troll Tear - A Children's Story for Samhain
by D. J. Conway

The night was very dark, with a Full Moon hanging in the cloud-filed sky above. The air was crisp with the feel of late Autumn and the doorway between the worlds was wide open. Carved pumpkins sat on the porches of the houses in the little town, and the laughter of children dressed in costumes could be heard from the streets.
    It was a sad time for Beth as she climbed the little hill behind her house. In her arms was her cat and friend Smoky, carefully wrapped in his favorite blanket. A little grave was already dug on the hill, waiting, for Smoky had died that day.
    "Do you want me to go with you?" Beth's father had asked. "I dug his grave beside MacDougal's at the top of the hill." Beth clearly remembered when their dog MacDougal had died after being hit by a car.
    "No, I want to go by myself," she answered.
    Beth stopped at the top of the hill and knelt beside the little grave. She carefully laid Smoky's blanket-wrapped form in the earth and covered it with dirt, laying several large rocks on the top. Then she cried and cried.
    "Oh, Smoky, I miss you so much!" Beth looked up at the Moon, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why did you die?"
    "It was time to rejoin the Mother," said a deep, gentle voice in the darkness.
    "Who said that?" Beth looked around but saw no one.
    "Ding is part of the cycle of life, you know." One of the boulders on the hill stirred to life.
    "Who are you?" The moonlight shone down on the little woman, and Beth could see she was not human.
    "I'm a troll-wife," said the creature as she came to sit across from Beth. "This is a sad night for both of us, girl. I, too, came to this hill to bury a friend." The troll-wife wiped a crystal tear from her cheek. "The squirrel was very old. Still it makes me sad."
    Beth stared at the troll-wife. The little woman was the color of rock in the moonlight, her hair like long strands of dried moss, her bright eyes like shining crystals. She wore a dress woven of oak leaves and tree bark.
    "The squirrel and I lived together for a long time." the troll-wife said. "We often talked to your cat when he was hunting here on the hill. Smoky and I were friends. I shall miss him, too." The little woman patted Smoky's grave gently. "Sleep well, little friend. When you are rested, we shall talk together again."
    "But he's dead," Beth said, her voice choked with tears.
    "Child, this is Samhain. Don't you know the ancient secrets of this sacred time of year?" The troll-wife motioned for Beth to come and sit beside her. "It is true that our friends have gone into a world where we can no longer physically touch them, but the Mother has given us other ways of communicating with them. We can do this any time, but the time of Samhain is the easiest."
    "I don't understand how this can be done," Beth said, "or why Samhain makes it easier."
    "At this time of year," the troll-wife answered, "the walls between this world and the world of souls and spirits is very thin. If we are quiet and listen, we can hear our loved ones and they can hear us. We talk, not with spoken words, but with the heart and mind."
    "Isn't that just imagination?" Beth looked down at Smoky's grave, tears once more coming into her eyes. "Like my thinking I can feel MacDougal get up on my bed at night like he used to?"
    "Sometimes it is, but mostly it is not imagination, only our friends come to see us in their spirit bodies." The troll-wife reached up her hand and patted something Beth couldn't see on her shoulder. "Like my friend the raven. He is here now."
    Beth looked hard and saw a thin form of hazy moonlight on the troll-wife's shoulder. "I've seen something like that at the foot of my bed where MacDougal used to sleep," she whispered. "I thought I was dreaming." She jumped as something nudged her arm. When she looked down, nothing was there.
    The troll-wife smiled. "Close your eyes and think of MacDougal," she said. "He has been waiting a long time for you to see him."
    Beth closed her eyes ad, at once, the form of her little dog came into her mind. His tail wagged with happiness. She felt a wave of love come from him, and she sent her love back. Then she felt the little dog lie down against her leg.
    "Can I do this with Smoky?" Beth asked.
    "Not yet," the troll-wife answered. "He needs to sleep a while and rest. Then he will come to you. This gives Smoky time to adjust to his new world and you time to grieve for him. It is not wrong to grieve, but we must not grieve forever."
    "I never thought of it that way," Beth said. "It's kind of like they moved away, and we can only talk to them on the phone."
    "It is this way with all creatures, not just animals." The troll-wife stood up and held out a hand to Beth. "Will you join me, human girl? Although I buried my friend squirrel this night, I still must dance and sing to al my friends and ancestors who have gone on their journey into the other world. For this is a time to honor the ancestors."
    Beth joined the troll-wife in the ancient slow troll dances around the top of the little hill in the moonlight. She watched quietly while the troll-wife called out troll-words to the four directions, words Beth couldn't understand. Deep in her heart the girl felt the power of the strange words and knew they were given in honor and love by the little troll-wife.
    When the troll-wife was finished with her ritual, she hugged Beth. "Go in peace, human child," she said. "And remember what I have told you about the ancient secret of Samhain."
    "I will," Beth answered. "Will I ever see you again?"
    "Whenever the Moon is Full, I will be here," the little troll-wife said." And especially at Samhain."
    "I wish I had something to give you." Beth hugged the little woman. "You have taught me so much." She felt the tears come to her eyes again.
    "Let's exchange tears for our lost friends." The troll-wife reached up a rough finger and caught a tear as it fell from Beth's eye. The tear glistened on her finger. The troll-wife gently touched her finger to her cloak, and Beth's tear shone there like a diamond in the moonlight.
    Beth reached up carefully and caught one of the troll-wife's tears as it slid down her rough cheek. It turned into a real crystal in her hand.
    "Remember the secret of Samhain, and remember me," the troll-wife said softly as she disappeared into the darkness. Beth walked back down the hill, the crystal clutched in her hand. Her father was waiting for her on the porch.
    "Are you all right?" her father asked as he gave Beth a hug.
    "I will be," she answered. She opened her hand under the porch light and saw a perfect, tear-shaped crystal lying there.
    "Did you find something?" her father asked.
    "A troll-tear," Beth answered, and her father smiled. For he also knew the little troll-wife and the secret of Samhain.

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The Singer and the Dragon: A Creation Myth
by Chris Cooper

    In the beginning, there is Unu, and Unu is All; from its harmony and its discord all things flow, and to its ever-shifting pattern all things return, for in truth they have never left. But in the end, beyond Unu, the dragon waits: the all-consuming nameless, whose shapeless form is chaos, whose hunger knows no bounds, whose gaming maw forever strives to swallow all sound and to extinguish all light.
    Feeling the cold breath of the dragon as it drew near, the great goddess Unu raised her voice and began to sing; and this song of diversity, intolerable to the dragon, became the Goddess's sole weapon in her struggle against the beast. The magic of the song set to work instantly, changing one into many, so that the Goddess now has three faces and wears three different forms, the better to fight the dragon with. The first face, shining with the fearsome light of his flaming eyes, is that of Cosmos, Lord of the Stars; the second face is that of gray-haired Chronos, Father Time; and the third face remains forever hidden in shadow, for it belongs to the dark lord, Night, the Master of the Mind and the Lord of Things Unseen. Together, the Three Who Are One struggle against the dragon to this very day.
    But the great song had only just begun...
    The Three Who Are One looked out into the void and saw their own reflection, knowing themselves at last for who they truly were: Unu in her fullness, beckoning her other selves as suitors. through the power of her song, she shattered all boundaries so that reflection and self could momentarily touch. Seeing the beautiful goddess made manifest before him, the bright lord Cosmos could not contain the fiery lust within him; his powerful body surged toward her, rashly pushing his two brethren aside. Night too was smitten, falling in love with the goddess for her fathomless complexity; but he courteously stepped aside and, with a knowing smile that on his shadowed face none could see, he let the physically superior Cosmos lie with the goddess first. Aged Chronos, meanwhile, had absolutely no carnal interest in the Goddess; the twilight lord was well beyond such desired and focused his attention with infinite patience o his sole task: shepherding the passage of time. And indeed, a long time passed before Cosmos, in ecstasy with Unu, had finally spent himself. But once he had, it was time for Night's long-awaited union with the Great Goddess. She was already pregnant with billions upon billions of children from Cosmos's potent seed, so virile was he; but now Night set his plan in motion, for as he lay with the Goddess he used his magic to change the nature of all that was in Unu's womb, so that the countless children that would have been Cosmos's would now be his, Night's.
    Learning of this after the fact, Cosmos was beside himself. He raged, and wept fiery tears from his flaming eyes, and, finally, sought help from Chronos. With a heavy sigh, the graybeard intervened, joining with the Great Goddess himself. Though he could not undo Night's spell, Chronos added his own magic to it, so that although all things born of Unu would fall to Night's domain, they would do so only at their appointed hour.
    And so from the Great Goddess were born the children of Cosmos, the celestial gods - trillions of worlds and stars, beautiful daughters and radiant sons whose dance forms the whirling heavens and whom Cosmos lovingly embraces in the folds of his cloak of space. To Chronos the Goddess bore a single child, their son Doom - alone, save for his father, as a temporal god. From Night's seed, Unu gave birth to the nocturnal goddesses, the twin sisters Death and Sleep. With all these new melodies, the universe was born, reverberating with Unu's song.
    And still the song unfolds, in infinite complexity...
    Cosmos, his lust irrepressible, took all the trillions of celestial gods as his own lovers, shapeshifting into myriad wondrous forms to pleasure them.  But though Cosmos found each coupling exquisite and unique, none could rival that first joy of his union with the Great Goddess, a joy he vainly strives to re-create, finding her everywhere and yet nowhere until the end of time. Still, of all the celestials, the twin goddesses Maia and Luna were his favorites; his passion for them was matched only by their passion for each other. Thanks to Cosmos's potent seed, soon Maia gave birth to earthly life - millions of species, from the lowliest microbe to the commonest weeds to the mightiest dinosaurs to humankind itself. Each was a new note, shifting in combinations harmonious and dissonant, of concordance and conflict, but all contributing to Unu's song.
    Even now the Great Goddess sings her song of diversity, turning one into many, who dance to her spiraling tune. We are born of Unu and that song, the children of a fertile earth and a starry sky, fated to return to her through Night's embrace at our appointed hour. Until then we sing, each of us and everything, creating all anew every day holding the dragon at bay.

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The Singing Mountain: A Children's Sacred Site Story
by Bernyce Barlow

    Long, long ago a giant lake called Lake Lahonton dried up, leaving nothing but sand where the water used to be. As the winds blew the sand away from the dried-up lake toward the mountains, a sand dune began to grow. The sand mountain was no ordinary sand dune. It was a singing sand dune! Sometimes, when the sand slipped off the tip top of the mountain, it would sound like a pipe organ or cello. At other times, the sand avalanche made flute sounds and drum booms. Sand Mountain was indeed no ordinary sand dune.
    Once, when the angels were rejoicing in the heavens, they heard the musical tones of the booming sands and came closer to its source. The angels were so impressed with the mountain's beautiful sounds that they spontaneously burst into a celestial chorus in harmony with the sand dune. The music filled the air. Lizards and coyotes crept out of their homes among the rocks and cliffs to listen to the heavenly concert. The eagles also came to listen. They soared through the atmosphere as if carried by the windtune that the sky danced to. It was a harmonic celebration of heaven and earth. The more the dune boomed and cooed, the more angels joined the choir, until the sky was almost full!
    A great wind was aroused as the wings of the angels kept beat to the mountain melody. It got stronger as more angels joined the festivities. It was then that the angel of the wilderness became concerned as the sand mountain was blowing away in the wind. By the time the rest of the angels saw what had happened it was too late. The singing sand dune had disappeared. "Oh, dear, what happened?" they asked.
    The angel of the wilderness explained the wind from their wings had blown away the sand off the mountain in four directions. so the angels made a plan to restore their beloved musical mountain. First the angels gathered all together, then some went to the east, some to the south, and the others to the west and north. When they had gathered in all four directions they began to sing and beat their wings. Sand began to swirl and dance within a whirlwind that centered itself where the mountains used to be. Bigger and bigger the sand dune grew until it was its original height. The angel of the wilderness was pleased, as were the other angels.
    The next time the angels gathered around the mountain they did not sing but listened to its music instead as booms and whistles, drones and deep notes emerged from it. After the concert, each angel blessed a grain of sand. Every grain was blessed because there are many, many angels.
    Nowadays, people who live near Sand Mountain say once in a while it mysteriously disappears, but always magically returns a year or two later. Of course, you and I know how this happens, don't we? We know the angels are singing on the mountain, keeping winged rhythm with its heartbeat. From the four directions when the sand is scattered will come a mighty desert wind strong enough to rebuild the singing mountain and carry its sound to the Creator. So, if you ever meet someone who asks what happened to Sand Mountain, you can tell them the angels borrowed it!

Author's note: Sand Mountain is located twenty miles east of Fallon, Nevada and is one of three "booming sand dunes" in the U.S. It does disappear and reappear from time to time and it also sings. The last audio recordings of a Sand Mountain sheer avalanche sounded like a didgeridoo.

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A River Story
by Carrie Westfall

    Look up into the sky and you will see the great river flowing from beyond one horizon to beyond the other. All the power for living our visions is carried to us in that river.
    A long time ago, there were two bear cubs who were learning to fish from the river. The older of the two cubs was called Ahimue, and she had learned how to stand up in the river's flow, letting the fish swim into her waiting paws as she stood firmly facing the current.
    The younger of the two  cubs was called Zhojte, and she was just learning how to find her balance without being swept away. Both cubs had learned that here you stood in the river depended on who you are, and that everyone had a place where they could best find their balance. Once you found your balance, you had to make sure that you faced the way the river came from so you could catch the fish as they swam to you. This part had been difficult for Zhojte to learn, but eventually the cub figured it out, and now she stood with her little bear toes dug into the river bottom at her very own balancing place, waiting for a fish to come within her grasp.
    Ahimue, in the meantime, was becoming quite good at catching up only those fish that the river guided directly to her. She had learned that as long as she stood in her balancing place, she would never be sent a fish that was too strong or too tough for her to manage, or a fish too small to give her nourishment.
    Being the older of the cubs, Ahimue felt responsible for making sure the less experienced Zhojte managed to survive in the flow of the great river. Sometime, Ahimue would call out encouraging words or instructions to the awkward younger bear, and she felt great pride when Zhojte's balance and fishing skills improved.
    All this time, the river continued to send fish to both cubs, but sometimes, distracted by her concern for Zhojte, Ahimue would let a fish slip past her unnoticed. Ahimue was not allowing herself to be properly nourished by the fish sent to her. As Zhojte grew steadier in the river's flow, Ahimue became more certain that the opposite was true. More fish began to slip past Ahimue and her vision became less clear until she became convinced that there were not enough fish. As still more fish slipped by, Ahimue's strength was no longer enough to stand firmly against the current, so she began to lose her balance.
    Ahimue was not convinced that the river's current was getting stronger, too strong, she was sure, for little Zhojte. In reality, Zhojte had continued to grow stronger and steadier, all the while following Ahimue's good advice to stand quietly in balance and wait for the fish to come. So quiet had the little bear become that Ahimue, no longer able to see or think clearly, was convinced that Zhojte was drowning. Ahimue reached far out from her place in the great river and caught hold of a very powerful salmon as it swam against the current.
    The salmon is a great power in the river. Born at the river's source, it spends its youth swimming within the flow of the river, sometimes providing nourishment for those who stand in the river and wait, sometimes slipping past those who are not attentive and making its way downstream, growing large and powerful and in need of fulfillment. This makes salmon a little crazy and very determined to return to the river's source to fill the void in its purpose. This is such a powerful force that it is a thing way beyond the abilities of a young bear cub, let alone a starving cub, to control.
    Ahimue, struggled to exert her will upon the great fish, pulling the salmon's fins to redirect its course and carry her to where she thought Zhojte was drowning. Together the powerful salmon and the desperate little cub made their way in a ragged diagonal across the steady flow of the river until they were close to where Zhojte stood quietly fishing. The salmon, unwilling to be further diverted from its own purpose gave a mighty leap out of the water, taking the startled Ahimue yelping into the air. As the salmon reached the height of its leap, it arched its slipper back wildly, sending Ahimue tumbling right down on to p of Zhojte.
    Fortunately for the bear cubs, Heron, who carries dreams and visions up and down the great river, was nearby. In fact, Heron was returning from an errand downstream just as Salmon made its leap from the water.
    Heron had seen and heard a great many things on her journeys, but having never seen a flying bear nor heard a yelping salmon, she decided to investigate. When Heron reached the cubs, the salmon was already far upstream and the two cubs were nearly drowned. As carefully as if they were visions, Heron caught the cubs up and took them to a stone in the river to rest. She listed patiently as Ahime told her how she had failed in her responsibility to Zhojte. When Ahimue had finished her story, Heron paused a moment, and then, reaching swiftly into the water and pulled out a fish, which she divided between the cubs.
    Now rested and with full bellies, the little bears listened as Heron explained that the true responsibility that Ahimue had neglected was the one to herself. By not keeping herself in balance, she had accidentally sent everyone around her out of balance as well. Then Heron asked each little cub if they now understood that by taking responsibility for themselves, they were in fact acting responsibly for everyone in the river, and that part of being balanced meant trusting in the ability of others as well as yourself.
    With this reminder, Heron carried each cub back to her balancing place. Then when Heron could see that both Ahimue and Zhojte were each restored to balance and to the business of being bears, she continued on her journey.

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The Story of the Armadillo
by Daven and his daughter

Once, long ago, in the time before time in this no time, in this no place where each being was choosing who or what they would be one day Spirit was talking with several of the beings who had already chosen.

Hawk and Eagle were there as was Snake. On this day Spirit appeared to be a cloud, shot through with light.

A being watched them carefully. He had been thinking about what he should choose to be. He was worried about his choice, for he would be the first of his kind and he wanted to make sure that his choice was a good one.

He thought about the beings talking with Spirit. He did not want them to have an easy time of catching him and eating him like Mouse. He also was not interested in being a hunter like them either, for he had seen that Spirit would make it hard for the hunters to catch their prey. This was a good thing, for if the hunters caught everyone and ate them, there would be none of that animal people left. The being did not want that for his children.

He thought about being able to run very fast, but he knew that would be a lot of work and he would need to eat a lot of food. He thought about living under the ground but he liked sunshine and didn't want to give it up. He thought about being a flyer, but he knew that would make the other flyers want to hunt him. Remembering Hawk, he wasn't sure he wanted her chasing him.

He thought about making himself taste really bad so that any one who tried to eat him would get sick, very sick. He was, however a friendly being and he was afraid that no one would want to talk to him if he were poisonous.

He also knew that there must be a balance between hunter and hunted, balance between eater and eaten. A being that was safe from every being would soon take over the world. He had no such wish, for he understood the need for balance.

He kept thinking about the problem for a very long time. Finally, he had an idea. He went to Spirit.

"Spirit, I think I am ready to choose. Please tell me if you think it is a good choice."

Spirit listened carefully to what the being said; and watched just as carefully for what was not said; and felt just as carefully what was wished for.

"I have thought about it and I would like to have a very thick hard skin. I want it to wrap around me so that I am safe from those who would eat me."

"That is a good choice." On this day, Spirit's voice was as soft and gentle as a spring breeze.

"I would ask for ears that hear well and if it is not too much of a problem, could I also be not too big and not too small?"

The breeze laughed as merrily as if it were tickling the trees. "No, not too much trouble at all."

"There is one more thing if you don't mind?" The creature that was taking shape was a little worried. He was afraid he was asking for more than he should, but he had an idea.

"Ask what you will." Spirit didn't seem angry.

"If I could curl up into a ball so I am covered by my thick skin? I would feel safer then. I love to travel you see and explore new places. I would not want to be caught by a hunter I do not know about in a new part of the world."

Spirit smiled like a shower of stars. "So it shall be. You have been wise and not asked for the impossible."

And that is how Armadillo came to be.

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Owl
by Daven and His Daughter

Once upon a time, in the time before time, in this no time and no place, all of the creatures were choosing what they would look like, what they would be when their time of being was upon them.

There was a creature who longed to fly. There was a problem though, for the creature was afraid. Afraid of Hawk, afraid of Eagle, for what if they would stoop on the flyer-to-be?

And yet, to be up high like they were, to feel the air; as though it were a part of your very being- how glorious that must be! And Oh! The creature yearned and Oh! the creature longed.

Finally, unable to bear a heart so full of need, timidly, the creature spoke with the Spirit of this place.

"P-please, please I-I want so to fly." And wings grew and feathers grew and Oh! the creature was so excited.

"P-please, I don't have to be the biggest flyer or the smallest, not the fastest of the slowest." Spirit laughed. With thunder for a voice it rumbled, "Not, not not, But what will you be then?"

"P-please- Hawk and Eagle fly in the day and I am afraid of them. Please- could I have feathers that look like the earth if it is not too much to ask?"

Again, Spirit laughed long and rumbly. And the feathers were dappled and speckled. "What else is it you wish oh flyer-in-the-middle?"

"Please, please if it is not too much trouble... I will need to eat. Nothing need be large, yet I would not have to chase too many to get full?"

Spirit laughed and agreed, "Mice and the like will be yours to hunt flyer of the middle way."

"Oh, THANK you Spirit! Thank you! B-but I am still afraid. P-please what shall I do? While I am hunting Mouse, what if Hawk and Eagle are hunting me?"

Spirit was getting impatient for others also had choices to make to come into being.

"Flyer of the middle way. At night you will hunt with sharp claws, your eyes large so that you can see in the dark, you will never be happy in the sun, in darkness you will live."

And so, Owl came to be in the world.

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Hawk
by Daven and his daughter

Once upon a time, in the time before time, in this no-time and no-place, all of the creatures were choosing what they would look like, what they would be when their time of being was upon them.

Some creatures were swift to choose and some were slow, some were thoughtful and some were hasty.

The first creature who choose was hasty but smart. She knew her heart almost instantly so she approached Spirit. Not fast and not slow, not in fear, but proudly, boldly.

"Spirit, I am ready!"

Spirit sparkled with all the colors that would be in the world and Spirit's voice sounded as sweet as the chiming of a hundred bells.

"And what is it you wish to be?"

"I choose flashing speed on wings of air!"

Long wings appeared stretching wide.

"I would dance on the heights of air." And again the wings grew until it seemed that the entire sky would be filled.

"A keen eye would help me see my prey from on high!"

Suddenly she shouted in triumph for she could see the very particles that life is made of.

"Is that all?" Spirit chimed mildly. Many creatures quailed before this gigantic creature for she would surely threaten to make prey of them all.

"No, Spirit- Not yet! Talons on my feet sharp and strong to grab my prey!"

Swiftly they grew. Claws sharp and long surely able to tear the very earth to shreds.

Chimed spirit, "Is that all?"

Loud laughed the creature and all but Spirit shook in fear. With wings so powerful eyes so sharp and talons so powerful surely this creature would eat them all!

"Oh no Spirit!" And now the creature's voice roared like a storm. "A beak to match my magnificent wings and beautiful talons!"

Surely never on Earth had there been such a beak! Long and longer it grew until it seemed to shadow all of the creatures near it and those not so near it.

"Is that all?" And still Spirit's voice was gentle and soft.

"YES! YES! For I shall rule the Earth and soar high above it!"

"Will you?" Spirit asked. "Try- try to fly."

And the creature stretched it's wings and began to flap them strong and hard. It's talons dug into the ground making huge gouges in the surface ripping through it as though it did not exist.

The other creatures wailed and cowered huddling to make themselves as small as possible.

And yet, the giant bird did not rise in the air. Harder she strained, making whirlwinds that blew other creatures away, and still she did not rise.

Finally, exhausted, she stopped. A scream tore from her throat that sounded like a clap of thunder.

Softly, gently, Spirit chimed, "What is wrong?"

A great tear rolled down from her eye, making a lake.

"What good is size if I cannot fly? What good are eyes that can see the smallest particle if that is all they can see? What good are talons to grasp with if I can find nothing to grab?"

And Spirit laughed with the sound of leaves rippling in the breeze.

"Indeed! And so, small and small."

The giant bird began to shrink until it was just the right size and Spirit spoke again.

"Rider of the Air, indeed shall you be but Earth will not be your friend. If you touch it, land on it, hard will be your rise back to the sky."

Still proud, the bird mantled and said, "I will learn to catch my prey without landing on the Earth!"

Spirit laughed our loud and strong. "Indeed! And you will be called Hawk!"

And so it was.

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Mouse
by Daven and his daughter

In the time before time, once long ago, in this no-time in this no-place all of the creatures were choosing what they would look like, what they would be like when their time of being was on them.

A creature was wishing and wishing hard that Spirit would not notice her too much. Her heart beat very hard when she even thought He might looking in the direction she happened to be standing near.

When that happened she ran and hid. She was very good at scurrying quickly into cover.

She hoped that He would notice yet she also feared that He would notice her.

Spirit, of course, knew of her fear and knew of her desire. But Spirit was wise and He waited. She would choose when she chose.

The scurrying one also feared Hawk and feared Eagle and feared those she knew had not chosen. "Oh dear," she thought, "what if they choose to be something that will eat me?" And her heart beat hard in her chest as though she was running as fast as she possibly could.

As Spirit knew would happen, strain and tension became too much to bear very quickly.

One day when it was not light and not dark, she happened to run right where Spirit was standing.

"OH!" she screeched and jumped high in the air. What was she to do? It would be so rude to just leave, but she was SO frightened!

Suddenly she felt a warm, gentle breeze around her.

"Little one," The voice of Spirit was warm and soft and quiet like a gentle spring breeze.

"OH!" she squeaked again. Her heart beat so fast she thought it would explode.

"You know what it is you wish to be?"

Trembling she nodded.

"Yet, you are afraid to tell me."

She nodded a small, shamed nod.

"Then, think little one and so it shall be."

But she couldn't think. She could hardly breathe! What could she do?

She felt the warmth of Spirit all around her and finally she was able to feel her wish. "To be small, not too noticeable, to be fast and good at hiding."

"Small indeed." The wind whispered "And hard to see. You are right to be afraid, for Hawk and Eagle will chase you and so I will make a gift to you.

"Many and many will your children be, more than ever can be eaten by any creature. You will always find food and your family will grow and surround you for faith and courage."

The creature shrank and became brown. Tiny feet and almost hands appeared and suddenly she could smell very keenly. Long whiskers grew so that she could even feel the gentlest breeze of Spirit.

And so Mouse came to be.

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The First Yule
Author Unknown

Once upon a time, long long ago, a beautiful young woman lived on a blue and green island. She had many friends on the island, fairies, trees, flowers, rabbits, deer and birds ... but she was the only person who lived there. She wanted to share her friends and her secrets with other people just like her, so she began to give birth. Every month when the moon was hiding, she gave birth. For the first six months, she gave birth to daughters with dark skin and eyes. For the last six moons of the year she gave birth to fair skinned daughters. On the seventh moon of every year the First Mother gave birth to a magickal, sacred oak.

As the years turned, many many daughters were born, and quite a few oak trees as well. The daughters played games with the animals and each other, they climbed in the branches of the oak trees and gathered flowers with the fairies.

One day the first born daughter of the First Mother gave birth herself. The First Mother was very proud and happy, her favorite friend Oak Tree (who was very wise) gave her a silver crown to wear and told her that she was now a Grandmother. Soon many of the daughters gave birth, and the island became an even happier place, full of babies and big girls and mommies who all played together with the animals, the trees and the fairies. One winter night when the moon was hiding, one of the daughters gave birth to a baby that was different from anything they had ever known. It was not a daughter, it was not even an oak tree, it was a baby BOY!

It was a very dark cold night, the longest winter's night of the year, so all the daughters and all the animals were snuggled up together to keep cozy and warm. After their excitement of seeing a brand new baby born passed, the daughters and the animals realized that the baby boy was not feeling well. He was not as strong or as warm as the babies and trees that were usually born on the island.

They all began to worry about the new baby, and tried to help keep him warm. The animals with the furriest coats pushed up close to the mother and baby, the fairies sprinkled magick dust above him, and the little girls sang wonderful songs and danced around and around the room. But the baby boy couldn't get warm enough and soon he was too cold and tired even to cry or to drink the healing milk from his mother.

The First Grandmother was so afraid for the baby boy. She tried to hide her tears from her daughters and ran out into the forest. The snow was very deep and full of white glitter. She tried to walk but it was just to deep. So her friend the owl carried her up above the snow filled clouds deep into the magick forest where her firstborn, most sacred wise friend Oak lived. The First Grandmother intended to ask Her friend for advise about the baby boy. When the owl reached the clearing where the sacred First Oak tree lived, the Grandmother gasped! There was no snow on the ground there, and in the middle of a perfect circle lay her friend the Oak. The tree had Fallen to the ground and broken into a pile of logs and branches. She rushed to kneel beside the broken tree, and her teardrops turned into sparkling icicles on her cheeks. While she was trying to understand what had happened to her dear friend, a coyote entered the circle and brushed up beside her. First the coyote kissed her tears dry, and then whispered a secret in the First Grandmother's ear. The Grandmother nodded, and with the help of the coyote and the owl, she gathered some of the branches from her oldest friend Oak and they returned to her daughter and the baby boy.

Using the gifts from the Oak, and the secrets from the coyote, the Grandmother built the very first fire that anyone on the blue and green island had ever seen. The fairies were shocked, they had never seen anything dance like that without wings. The animals laughed, they had never seen colors so bright except on springtime flowers. The daughters didn't know WHAT to do, they had never felt anything as warm as the summer sand on the beach in the middle of winter. The mother brought the baby boy close to the edge of the fire, closer than everyone else (they were still just a little bit scared of this new thing called fire). The baby boy opened his eyes just a little bit, and began to wiggle his fingers. Then he smiled and moved his toes too. When he was warm enough, he snuggled with his Mother and drank her milk, soon everyone was certain the baby boy would be okay. They were all so happy, they danced around the fire singing their favorite special songs and giving little gifts to the fire.

The baby boy grew up strong and happy because of the gift of the First Oak Tree. He had many sons of his own, and taught them all to plant acorns on the seventh dark moon of the year so that there would always be many, many oak trees on the island. Every winter, on the longest coldest darkest night of the year, all the people who lived on the blue and green island built a very special fire. They brought in a special tree and honored it with shiny ornaments and glittery fairy dust. They picked one very special branch or log and sang their favorite songs while they decorated it. Then they would give this beautiful log to the fire as a present...and all the children would hear the story of the gift of the First Oak tree.

On the longest night of the year, whenever you light a candle or build a fire, remember the story of the First Grandmother and the coyote who told her the secret. No matter how cold and dark it seems, The Sun will always be reborn and bring us warmth and light again.