Five Gold Leaves The trees of the Wildwood often talked amongst themselves. From spring to autumn their conversations were, for the most part, civil and focused on the coming and goings of the wood. But in winter, cold from root to topmost branch, they most often argued. About anything and everything they could argue about; … More For the fifth tale of Flashmas the Wildwood gave to me …
Allan Rues His Words The first glimmerings of winter had come to the Wildwood. The air fair hummed with cold, shrubs and trees glittered in the dawn light, spiderwebs looked like spun silver, and the tiny windows of the Witch’s cottage shone, resplendent with the frost-ghosts of ferns. The Witch, having dug out her winter … More For the fourth tale of Flashmas the Wildwood gave to me …
Fox’s Feathered Den The Wildwood is a real wood, with real trees and plants, inhabited by real animals and birds. And at the very same time it is The Wildwood, old beyond time, well spring of myths, legends, and folklore. If it pulls you into a story then it is the place where Once Upon … More For the third tale of Flashmas the Wildwood gave to me …
Tea and Love at Doves The Village, situated as it was on the southern edge of the Wildwood, where the river swept out from under the trees and began a wide slow meander through the fields and hills, had absorbed plenty of the Wildwood’s power. For over a thousand years it has been either a … More For the second tale of Flashmas the Wildwood gave to me …
The Witch’s Cottage gets a Frankentree For years the denizens of the Wildwood had known caution was required when visiting the Witch’s cottage. Not because of the Witch herself. She was their reason for visiting, with her healing salves and potions, her delicious food, and – whilst she didn’t suffer fools – her willingness to … More For the first tale of Flashmas the Wildwood gave to me …
Originally written at the start of December from the prompts sent daily by Writer’s HQ for their 12 Days of Flashmas challenge, I decided I wanted share these on my blog over the actual twelve days of Christmas (so from Boxing Day to Epiphany) pretty much as they left my keyboard at the end of … More Twelve Tales from the Wildwood
Well, I was thinking about Proust (as you do) and I remembered a story I’d writing about the memory a smell can invoke. So I thought I’d share it here: The Smell of SafetyMeg was in the kitchen, struggling to fill the kettle one handed and muttering about the inconvenience of plaster casts, when the … More In which I imagine a ‘Madeleine moment’
Kizzia Mildmay 