A Midsummer Knight's Dream

In tonight’s medieval romance-inspired sleep story, you are a newly knighted member of the king’s court, eager to prove yourself in quest. As you pursue the legendary Questing Beast through the forest, you stumble into a magical midsummer celebration. All is not as it seems in the wood, and before long, you realize that you revel in the Otherworld, among the faery folk.

Concludes with a meditation inspired by the Summer Solstice.

Music/Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw and Binaural Alpha by Syntropy, Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Slip into the fairy country for a midsummer festival in tonight's sleep story inspired by medieval romance.

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy-inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel,

And I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Listen to my voice for as long as you like,

And when you're ready,

Feel free to let go of the story and surrender to sleep.

If you're still awake as the story comes to an end,

I'll guide you through a relaxing meditation inspired by the summer solstice.

In tonight's story,

You are a newly knighted member of the king's court,

Eager to prove yourself in quest.

As you pursue the legendary questing beast through the forest,

You stumble into a magical midsummer celebration.

But all is not as it seems in the wood,

And before long,

You realize that you revel in the otherworld among the fairy folk.

This is the midseason finale of Sleep and Sorcery.

I'm taking a short break to welcome my second child,

And I'll be back as soon as I can with more original bedtime stories.

Thanks so much for your continued support of my work and your understanding.

For whatsoever from one place doth fall is with the tide unto another brought,

For there is nothing lost that may be found,

If sought.

Edmund Spencer,

The Fairy Queen The wilder the wood,

The more noble the quest you repeat to yourself as the light struggles to penetrate the canopy.

You're certain it can't be much past midday,

And yet,

Night seems to descend on this place In the thickness of brush and overhanging trees,

Ivy climbs the trunks and spreads across the forest floor,

Obscuring any hint of what once was a road,

A discernible path through nature's inviting labyrinth,

And all glitters with the minimal sunlight that can stream through gaps above in the most enchanting emerald.

Deepest green hues that play upon the white coat of your horse,

Turning the creature to a muted sage,

And golden crystals of struggling sunlight seem to hang in the air,

Shimmering against shards of gossamer and tiny droplets of dew.

Deeply you travel into the heart of the forest,

Conscious now of a thousand tales told at bedtime by your nurse,

Or around the fire with your fellow knights.

Tales of adventure,

Of sword battles and sorcerers who take to the wilds,

Of damsels and vavasors who seem to hide around every tree,

Offering boons to ambitious knights who seek fortune in the quest.

Knights like you,

Eager to please the king,

Eager to prove your mettle as one of the golden companions to that great leader,

Eager to earn your seat at his round table,

Where none,

Even the noble monarch,

Sits higher than another.

To have their faces shine upon you,

The most legendary of knights and nobles,

That is the spur in your side,

That is the voice in your ear which draws you onward,

Even into the unknown and uncultivated wilderness.

There's something of a thrill in it too.

Who knows what lies round the next bend in the vanished road,

Round the next great tree.

You're not certain how long it's been since you entered the wood,

For the light has been so sparse and inscrutable,

The whole place having the enchanted air of a world outside common notions of time.

It's like a dream,

You think,

In which whole eras may be collapsed into a single moment,

Or a single moment may stretch on for years.

Burns tickle the knees of your horse,

Who moves with some trepidation through the high foliage,

And the quiet whisper of the forest encircles you softly,

Breeze and rustle and movement of wildlife,

All blending to a hush.

All your life,

This quest has rested upon your shoulders,

As it did upon your fathers and all your ancestors,

A strange inheritance some might say,

But you've never known differently.

Even as a child in the nursery,

Tales of the questing beast captivated you.

It is the burden borne by your family's line,

To track,

Pursue,

And hunt the immortal beast till one day it's finally caught.

With each generation,

There are sightings of the creature,

Who all but defies description.

It's been variously described to you as humongous and diminutive,

Serpentine and feathered,

Multi-chromatic and pure white.

You've not sighted it yourself,

And often wonder whether you'll know it from any other beast in the forest,

From heart or hair.

Yet as soon as you were given the chance to seek the creature,

You took the reins without hesitation,

So newly knighted and impatient to prove your worth to the king and his noble companions.

Now under the surreal cover of the canopy,

An unknown distance from home,

You wonder if that impulsive courage was misplaced.

Have you set out into the forests of adventure,

Only to become hopelessly lost?

Still,

With the steady rock of the horse beneath you,

And the quiet of the wood,

Many stirrings of disorientation or fear are settled by a cloak of calm.

That quiet is briefly broken by the whistle of a cuckoo in a nearby tree,

And the snort of your horse in response.

At your languid pace,

It's easy to slip into daydreams or restless reverie.

You imagine yourself emerging from the wood,

Triumphant,

The questing beast netted and subdued,

Arriving to fanfare and flattery at court.

You picture the shining faces of your father and fellow knights,

The beaming expression of the king who bestows the highest blessings upon you.

How thrilling it would be,

After generations of striving,

For you to be the one to finally fulfill your family's quest.

It hardly seems possible,

But the trees and vegetation are now growing even denser.

Needles of pine brush against your face,

And you sense your horse's trepidation in going further.

Any semblance of a road now entirely obscured by ivy,

Vines,

And ferns,

You consider turning back,

Finding another route.

But first you dismount,

Giving your steed a few comforting strokes along the neck,

And a few steps into the heavy brush to see if the path might clear ahead.

Stepping high over a large tangle of moss-covered roots,

You push aside a low-hanging branch and move toward something that glimmers.

You find that you stand on the edge of a small lake,

Pleasantly glittering under a muted sunlight.

Here the sun does not struggle so vainly against the canopy,

But still it barely penetrates a gathering of heavy clouds overhead,

Lending a pearlescence to its light.

It is still nearly impossible to distinguish the time of day,

And the light that does shine on the lake reminds you,

Eerily,

More of moonlight than sun.

Still you're pleased to have found this source of water,

As surely your weary horse would appreciate the chance to rest and drink.

Maneuvering back through the thick bushes,

You take the white horse by the reins and lead him cautiously toward the water's edge,

Through a more accessible parting in the trees.

While he drinks,

You take a moment to rest on the banks,

Removing some of your heaviest armor and rinsing your hands and face with the cool water.

A low breeze tickles a weeping willow nearby.

Its tendrils sweep softly across the surface of the lake,

Sending little ripples outward.

It is exquisitely peaceful here.

The air is so mild,

And the soil is so soft,

That you can feel yourself settling into it,

Softening along with it.

You could almost close your eyes here,

Safe in this secluded bower,

And sleep for days.

You recline on your forearms,

Soft gaze scanning the ancient trees that surround the water's edge,

Soaking in the softness of the sun's diffuse glow.

And just when you begin to allow your eyelids to surrender,

To droop and settle,

That's when you see it.

You're careful not to make any sudden movements as you sit up tall,

Squinting across the lake.

There,

Beneath a monumental beech tree,

Is a creature,

Drinking peacefully from the water,

Almost a mirror for your horse.

Pure white,

And seemingly glowing,

The beast is barely the size of a fox,

And flush with long fur,

But it is somehow cat-like in its build and subtly graceful movements.

Yet beyond these comparisons,

You cannot identify the creature,

Nor seem to grasp its beauty with your mind.

You've never really seen anything like this.

You find yourself transfixed,

Awestruck at its loveliness and singularity,

Engaged in the simple gesture of drinking water from the peaceful lake.

Can it be,

You wonder?

Can it be that this is the beast of legend,

The one for which your family has quested across the generations?

As you watch the creature,

Holding as still as possible,

Hardly daring to breathe,

You feel an almost overpowering wave of conflicting emotion.

There's desire,

Yes,

To capture the creature and behold its marvelous beauty,

To hold,

To understand,

To possess its majesty.

And at the same time,

Your heart is tugged by a feeling of selfless adoration,

Almost exaltation,

A sense that this being is so rare,

So sacred,

That it would be grievously unjust to cage or injure it.

All this time,

You had expected something monstrous,

And now you come face to face with the purest embodiment of the sublime.

You're reminded of the snow-white unicorns that grace tapestries in your family's hall,

Depictions of rarity,

Demure innocence,

And the divine.

The creature is something not of this world,

Surely,

But which brings it a touch of the most welcome enchantment.

And as this moment,

Dreamlike still,

Passes between the trees,

Like the yawning of stars,

The animal slowly lifts its head.

For an instant,

Its eyes meet yours,

And they are of the deepest,

Glittering gold.

Your muscles tense reflexively,

But you aim to remain ever still,

Hoping not to frighten the creature away.

And for a moment,

It seems to regard you with the most inquisitive expression,

Amused almost.

And in the next moment,

It is off in a flash of white.

The ferns and grasses ripple in its wake.

You can afford to lose very little time in getting to your feet and remounting your horse.

The sheet of mail you removed in your moment of rest can wait,

You decide,

As you lead the horse round the edge of the water and after the beast.

The way is just slightly more open through the trees here,

And you can navigate with greater ease.

Still,

The beast already has some ground on you.

But in a moment,

You realize that it has left an unmistakable trail.

Not of obvious footprints or tracks,

But something more wondrous,

Commensurate with its own marvelous nature.

For before you,

Stretching out,

Up to the subtlest rustle of movement on the trail ahead,

The trees are changing.

It's as if the lush summer has been touched,

Gently kissed,

By early autumn in the beast's wake.

Here and there,

The deciduous tree's greenest leaves flashing instantly to gold and crimson,

Almost shining.

Then another changes,

Several paces ahead.

Then another,

Suddenly bursting with burnished color,

Where once was only green.

If any doubt remained in your mind that this was the beast of your family's legend,

That doubt has now all but vanished.

Despite your heart's conflict over whether it's right to capture and possess a being of such otherworldly splendor,

Still you push on,

Wanting only to follow where it leads and come to know it better.

You have the overwhelming sense that you are chasing not a beast,

But a mystery.

You are pursuing the secrets of the wildest wood,

The heart of the very idea of quest.

From golden arbor to golden arbor,

You dash on your horse,

Eyes searching for the beast.

Passing swiftly beneath two golden trees,

Which bend toward each other,

You pull back abruptly on the reins,

Realizing you've entered a vast clearing.

The light here has the same quality of diffuse opalescence as though it struggles against a thick layer of pearly clouds,

Though strangely,

There doesn't seem to be a cloud in the sky.

Your eyes drink in the glade quickly,

But your mind takes a few moments to catch up to all the uncanny beauty of it.

All around the perimeter,

Transforming before you,

The oak,

Ash,

And thorn trees' green leaves gild themselves,

Coming to glow like a sacred ring.

In the center of the clearing,

There stands the questing beast,

Still and silent,

Gleaming white,

Until,

The very next moment,

It begins to glitter.

The effect is nearly blinding,

But you can see,

Dimly,

The beast's features elongating,

Stretching,

Taking new form,

Before the shards of glitter in the atmosphere obscure the creature completely.

You find you must momentarily shield your eyes,

But as the shine subsides,

Softening outward like a ripple throughout the clearing,

You behold where once the beast stood,

A woman.

She is clad in white silks,

The same snowy pearl of the animal's coat,

And she too seems to emit its otherworldly glow.

Atop her head is a sparkling diadem,

And this adorned with jewels and pure white flowers.

But you cannot observe her features long,

For all around you the meadow is changing.

More shimmer in the air yields more figures,

Each more lovely and statuesque than the next.

And at the center there grows something,

Like a tree trunk,

Twisting wildly toward the sky,

Encircling itself as it goes with floral vines,

Flowers bursting open in every imaginable hue.

Wild flowers spread too across the clearing,

Opening to the sky in deepest crimsons,

Delicate pinks,

And palest blues.

All unfolds under the unusual light,

That light that's neither sun nor moon,

A whole world of glimmering people and plant life appearing from nothing.

None are as lovely or as finely adorned as the lady in white,

However.

From whom you can hardly look away,

So effusive is she.

Soon you are approached by two youths who greet you as befits a knight of the round table.

In fact,

They even know your name.

The bedside tales of the forest swim now in your head,

Sending up vague remembrances and images of enchantresses and their treacherous veils,

Of magicians bound within oaks,

Of fairy dwellings where time and obligation matter not.

The youths offer to see to your horse that he's fed and sheltered with their own,

And you dismount.

You are keenly aware that your armor lies on the banks of the lake well behind you,

That you enter this unfamiliar space,

Entirely unguarded.

But all around you,

The people of this place are dressed in light linens and silks,

None carrying arms.

For all its strangeness,

The pace and peace of the setting draw you into a feeling of safety,

Or at least of not being in imminent danger.

In fact,

The more you take in,

The more it appears you've wandered into the midst of a celebration,

A festival.

And perhaps this should not surprise you,

For though the light here may confuse,

You know that you entered the wood near to the time of the midsummer solstice,

The longest day of the year,

When the earth soaks up its richest bounty of light and prepares to turn again toward darkness.

It's a time of feasting and revelry,

Of celebrating abundance in nature and enjoying the pleasures of the material world.

But is it possible you've wandered in this wood for many days without knowing so?

For you had hoped to return to court by midsummer night,

Ideally triumphant and bearing the questing beast behind you to join the king's renowned feast.

Truly,

This forest has played tricks upon your idle mind,

Distorting your sense of time and revealing great marvels.

It's only now that music meets your ears,

Gentle and entrancing.

Was it there all this time,

Leading you toward it?

Or did it only spring up now when your senses reached for a melody?

There's something familiar in the lulling notes and their relationships,

But you cannot name the tune.

It's like an old ancestral song that haunts your reveries,

Never quite coalescing into memory.

Indeed,

That's how this entire place feels.

The forest,

The clearing,

The festival,

Like a half-remembered dream.

And in that fashion,

You are welcomed by a host of revelers,

Each one impossibly,

Ethereally beautiful,

With long,

Elegant features and dazzling eyes.

Before long,

You have no doubt that you have come,

As in the legends,

To the fairy country,

The other world.

When was it that you passed the boundary from the ordinary realm?

Was it the moment you set foot in the forest?

The instant the road was overtaken by ivy?

Or was it at the edge of the lake,

When your eyes first met those of the questing beast?

The beast who now walks among the other fairies as a woman.

You search the crowd for her and find the same amber-gold eyes that locked with yours by the lake.

This,

You're certain,

Is the Fairy Queen.

She is ancient and ageless,

Seeming to float across the dewy grass with an effortless grace,

Unmatched by the others,

Though grace and elegance abound.

There is dancing.

The music seems to sweep you up into a whirl of movement round the floral column at the center of the clearing.

You discover that your body knows the motions.

You leap and twirl with the most poised among the fairies.

An inner and outer ring of dancers weave to and fro,

Exchanging and revolving.

Face to face you come with others,

Clasping hands and letting go,

Meeting for a moment in the dance,

Then parting swiftly.

Now and again you grasp the hand of the Fairy Queen,

Searching her face for keys to the mystery of your quest.

But as soon as you come close,

She is gone to the other ring,

And you meet a new partner.

When the dancing ends,

You look for her in vain.

She has slipped away.

But now the Fae Folk are piling branches round their floral centerpiece,

Building a great heap of wood at its base.

Though it's rarely practiced in the High King's Court,

This tradition is not unknown to you,

For it is still practiced by many of the country folk,

And even some of the lesser courts who keep the old tribal customs of the land,

The Midsummer Bonfire.

As a child,

You can recall looking from the windows of your father's castle,

Deep in the twilight of Midsummer Night,

And seeing the string of fires spring up across the farmlands.

How appropriate,

You think,

That in your youth you always called them fairy fires.

A torch is lowered to the pile of branches,

Which are set magnificently alight.

Your cheeks flush as the flame ignites and swiftly wraps around the heap,

Then spirals upward along the helix of vines and flowers.

For an instant,

The blooms blaze,

Delicate petals curling inward,

As if kissed by gold.

Then they disintegrate,

And the base flames leap high,

Engulfing the column.

A more splendid bonfire you've never seen,

On solstice or otherwise.

The flames dance,

Glistening orange,

Blue and white.

So dynamic is the fire,

Shifting constantly and effortlessly,

With a balance of frenzy and calm.

In its movement,

You catch familiar shapes and forms,

But only long enough for your subconscious mind to reach for them,

Longing to untangle them into coherent pictures.

Song swims sweetly across the flames,

A slower and more mysterious flute than the dancing tune that's now concluded.

Though still,

No sun nor moon shines clearly here.

The light,

A disorienting pearly gray,

It feels like twilight.

The air is cool and damp,

And the grass shines with droplets of dew.

Gentle breeze rises to soothe the muscles,

Sore from dancing.

You feel a pleasant,

Buzzing exhaustion in your bones,

A heaviness in your limbs that meets a lightness in your heart.

A twosome of fairies take you by the arms,

And invite you to sit in a circle with others.

They are engaged in sewing flowers into garlands and crowns.

You sit upon the grass and take the thread handed to you.

It gleams like diamond filament or spider silk in the golden morning.

Watching how the others work,

You spread your gossamer through the hearts of peonies and white roses,

Stringing them together into a circlet.

This is placed gingerly upon your head by a giggling fairy girl.

The light of the bonfire reflects off the white silks and demure flowers that now garland all the fairies.

What a picture you must make,

Seated in the gleam of the flame,

While fireflies dance all around.

Or are they,

Rather,

Those mysterious creatures that haunt the marshes and woods of fairy stories?

Will-o'-the-wisps.

How wondrously strange it is,

And yet,

How perfectly comfortable to find yourself now in the very heart of a folktale.

The fairies bring sweet mead and fruits of the forest,

Spreading a feast along the grass.

The food tastes sweeter,

More sumptuous than anything prepared at court.

You feel as if you've always known this place,

As if you've been here,

Perhaps a hundred times,

Been garlanded with a thousand flowers,

Only to forget the miraculous experience as soon as you exit the wood.

Is that why you feel such a distant familiarity with all these symbols and surroundings?

And what if,

You wonder,

You didn't leave this time?

What if you eschewed the rigid propriety and standards of court,

Preferring to remain here,

Where all seems a song,

Where feet go bare on the dew-kissed grass and flowers enchant the brow,

Where feasts are laid in the meadow and questing beasts are queens in disguise,

Where no nightly deeds are expected of you,

Only revelry and rest?

There is something endlessly alluring about the rusticity of such a life and such a celebration.

At first,

You can't put your finger on it,

But then it comes to you.

It's freedom.

Looseness and liberation reign here,

In contrast with the expectations and rules of court.

Everything at court is a game,

Battle,

Tourney,

Friendship and love.

All are governed by strict rules and hierarchies,

Which seem hardly to exist here.

Yes,

A queen moves among you,

Though she still evades your gaze,

But unless you're mistaken,

She submits to no king,

And the fairies dance and feast with abandon you can't imagine from human nobility.

It is so wildly liberating,

As if removing your armor has lifted a weight from your entire existence.

Perhaps you will remain here,

If they'll have you,

Freed from ancestral quests and codes of chivalry.

It's now that a trio of fairies approach you from a grove of ash and alder.

They take your hands and ask if you'd like to meet their lady.

You nod,

Dazedly,

Allowing them to lead you toward the trees.

When you pass beneath the alder catkins,

Night seems to seep in at the edges of your vision.

Here the fireflies,

Or will-o'-the-wisps,

Glow brighter against the purple darkness,

Briefly illuminating flowers and patches of grass and ivy.

Not far down the path,

You're led to what you can only describe as an enchanted bower,

Where the trees bend low toward each other,

Creating almost a nest of safety.

The sound of trickling water greets you,

And you see a glittering spring at your feet.

It bubbles merrily,

And unless the light plays tricks,

The soil beneath is tinged with flecks of gold.

Fragrant wild thyme creeps along the banks,

And violets nod in the breeze.

Oh,

And the air is sweet-scented,

Too,

With honeysuckle,

Which embraces the trees and climbs overhead.

It is an intoxicating melange,

Which makes your head swim pleasantly.

But there is the queen,

Adorned with jewels and flowers,

Seated on a strange throne,

Which as the fireflies cast their glow upon it,

You recognize to be ruggedly carved of deep green stone,

Perhaps even emerald.

You drop to a knee before her,

And she laughs a musical laugh.

Her fairy attendants giggle as well.

You need not kneel here,

She smiles,

For in this wood you are as noble as I.

You get to your feet.

My lady,

You say,

Eyes lowered still in reverence,

Do I address the fairy queen?

If such a title suits you,

She says,

Her chin resting lazily on her hand,

Then it's acceptable to me.

The queens and kings have less ascendance here than in your home.

Then I am at your service,

Your highness,

You say,

All nightly practice flooding your mind and spurring your speech.

Gentle night,

She says,

It is we who are at your service.

This is,

After all,

Midsummer night,

And we are obliged to grant you hospitality,

And also a single wish.

At this,

Your heart flutters,

For never did you expect to be granted a boon,

Simply for stumbling upon the fairy's hidden kingdom.

But then you recall the moment you first locked eyes with the questing beast,

The same golden eyes that now regard you from the face of the fairy queen.

Now you truly feel you've stepped into the pages of legend,

Where heroes are granted boons for succeeding in their quest,

Or for rescuing the innocent.

Are you now being rewarded for your unwillingness to cage such a magnificent creature?

Is there something you wish?

Good night,

The queen asks,

Her eyes sparkling.

You think,

And you soften.

You glance behind you,

Where the flicker of the bonfire is still visible through the parting of trees.

Music has struck up again,

Merry and light in the meadow.

Dancing must have resumed.

Do you dare wish such an impulsive thing as this?

My lady,

You say,

Taking a deep breath.

Might I be granted permission to abide here,

To live here among you,

Forever?

The fairy attendants giggle some more,

Though you don't see the humor in it.

For her part,

The fairy queen's eyes soften,

Twinkling with a kind of bittersweet tenderness.

I'm afraid that's not a wish I can grant,

She says,

Her voice tinged with genuine regret.

At least,

Not at this time.

It's rare and fleeting that our worlds come so close together that they collide.

But even the noblest of knights cannot dwell forever amongst the fair.

But look to the skies on days when the earth is in transition,

And you may well find our doors again to shelter here for an evening.

Ask of me anything else,

And I shall see if your wish is in my power to grant.

So,

You think,

You cannot shake away the trappings of court so easily to live among the fairies.

And while such news is disappointing,

You suppose it is not entirely unwelcome.

Rustic revelry may be grand and freeing,

But it is not a way to live forever.

Sooner or later,

One's life catches up,

Along with one's responsibilities and attachments.

But what can you ask of the queen that might satisfy your need for greater freedom and fulfillment?

What can you ask that she might have the power to bestow?

You think of your father and the long line of ancestors who've traversed this wild wood,

Of the king and his noble companions,

Each burdened by their own personal quest.

You think of the beautiful,

Indescribable object of your quest,

And how deeply you object to the idea of trapping or caging her.

And finally,

You make your ask.

A gift,

You say,

By way of evidence or proof that I have met and feasted among you,

And that I have had within my grasp the object of an ancient quest.

A simple gift to bolster my tale when I tell it at court,

That I might be recognized for my achievement and my virtue.

The queen's eyes fill with inscrutable expression,

As if she's looking into and through your intentions.

It's a few moments before she responds.

I will grant this request,

She says,

But with an agreement on the conditions.

Now she steps down from her emerald throne and toward you.

In this twilight bower,

She seems lit from within.

You'll have your proof that the beast of legend was in your hands,

And that you freed her rather than capturing a thing of such innocence.

I hope your companions will see the virtue in that,

She says.

But I ask a promise in return,

That you will not reveal the true nature of that beast,

Or of this place in which you find yourself.

Keep our secret,

And you will keep our trust,

And you may one day find yourself among us again.

There are some things in this vast and boundless world that at best remain mystery.

Though it pains you to think of returning to court,

And never speaking of your encounter with the lustrous fairy queen,

Your dancing and feasting round the midsummer fire,

You can understand the lady's words.

What would the world be after all without mystery?

What would happen to the wild woods if all their secrets were revealed?

And you,

Satisfied,

You agree to the queen's terms.

Silently she gestures to one of her attendants,

Who flits to her side.

She whispers something in the ear of the young fairy,

Who produces a sharp blade from beneath her silks.

Without a word,

The fairy cuts a lock of pure white hair from the lady's head,

And ties it with a cutting of honeysuckle vine.

This she produces to you.

You take the lock of hair,

Identical here to the downy fur of the questing beast,

And you thank the lady for her kindness.

When your audience with the queen is through,

You're led back to the blazing bonfire,

Where dancing has resumed in force.

You join the revels,

Gaily leaping round the fire,

Understanding that this will be your only night among the fairies,

And cherishing it more for the fact.

Your limbs grow heavy and fatigued,

But your heart remains light,

And never do you break a sweat.

Just a bit of the fairy's enchantment,

You presume,

Infusing you with a sense of boundless stamina.

But,

As all things,

The fire is ephemeral.

As the hours pass,

Its flames diminish,

Until it smolders low and gentle,

Dying embers sending off their final crackles.

The time has come,

You realize,

For sleep.

Two fairy youths show you to a quiet resting place among the ferns and oaks,

Where soft mosses and moonflower make more than a comfortable bed.

They pluck honeysuckle blossoms from the vine,

And sprinkle the essence over your eyelids,

Whispering unintelligible incantations.

Sleep comes over you swiftly,

Like a wave of rosy musk,

Beneath the firefly's glow.

Away you drift,

To that strange harbor that greets us only in dreams.

When you wake,

Eyes hazy with honeysuckle sweetness,

It takes some time to recognize your surroundings.

Birds are trilling carelessly in the trees,

And a blushed dawn glimmers on the quaking surface of the water.

Your horse chuffs and nuzzles softly at your shoulder.

You yawn and stretch,

Sitting up on your elbows,

To take in the environment.

The soil is soft beneath you,

Dampened in the morning dew.

You are at the edge of the lake,

The lake where you first saw the beast,

And her retreat gilded all the trees in her wake.

But you are alone with your horse,

Dizzy with sleep,

Unsure what day it is.

Your armor lies nearby,

And you dress hastily,

The evening's events coming back to you in flashes.

Can it all have been a dream,

You wonder,

Brought on by exhaustion and confusion?

But just as you are ready to accept that your adventures were the stuff of a wild wood and overactive imagination,

You discover the lock of pure white hair among your things,

Tied with a cutting of honeysuckle vine.

You tuck it safely away beneath your armor,

Close to your heart,

The gift of the fairy queen and remembrance of all that took place around the Midsummer Bonfire.

You tuck it away with the secrets and the mysteries of the forest,

Those unexplainable,

Magical things that must remain so.

You make a bower around them in your mind,

Fragrant with wild thyme and honeysuckle,

And you protect them.

For as long as there are wild woods,

Noble quests,

And virtuous,

Garlanded nights,

There ought to be sacred mystery.

There ought to be the magic of absolute freedom.

Take a deep breath in,

Letting it fill the lungs and the belly,

Spreading nourishment to all corners of the body,

And breathe out,

Completely emptying,

Flushing out tension and bringing relaxation to the body.

A few more deep breaths like this,

Filling all the way up,

And exhaling completely,

Relaxing away tension.

Good.

Now let the breath settle into a natural rhythm.

Embrace ease here as you sink into your sleep surface.

As the summer solstice approaches in the northern hemisphere,

The Earth is poised on the threshold of a significant transition.

At the apex of the light,

The year's longest day,

We prepare to turn inevitably toward darkness again,

Embracing the balance and necessity of change.

We move into cultivation and toward the harvests,

Conscious every day of the changing light,

The sun's new position.

As you prepare for sleep tonight,

Take a few moments to reflect on the significance of this season,

Whether you're listening at the height of summer,

Or at any other time of year when you face an opportunity for growth and change.

Consider how far you've come from this time last year,

The last time you stood on this seasonal threshold.

Consider what's the same,

What's worth preserving and cultivating,

And what you might like to leave in the past.

If you like,

Use this reflection to craft an intention for the season,

One that you can plant in your unconscious mind for sleep.

You might use as a framework,

In the months ahead I choose to embrace this quality,

Leaving behind another.

Hold your intention for a few moments,

Imagine yourself planting it like a seed,

Covering it with soil,

Sprinkling water upon it,

And allowing the sun to shine down upon it.

Breathe in and let it go,

Letting your mind empty,

And feeling the body settle naturally into place,

Softening in the feet,

The legs,

The hips and pelvis,

The back,

The belly,

Softening all along the spine,

The shoulders,

The chest,

The arms,

The hands,

The neck,

The face and head,

The scalp,

The shoulders,

The belly,

The hips,

The arms,

The legs,

The hips,

The arms,

The hips,

The legs,

The arms,

The hips,

The legs,

The arms,

The hips,

Feel yourself on the threshold between waking and sleeping,

Between the light and darkness,

Between worlds,

Breathe into this in-between space,

Soften into it,

Feel supported by it,

Sleep now,

In your enchanted power,

In peace,

In freedom,

In balance,

Good night.

Reviews

These work so well that I'm asleep before I hear more than a few minutes of the story! Congratulations on your new baby! 💜💜💜

I keep falling asleep before the end but I love the beautiful description of the forest and your lovely calm voice.

Another wonderful story 💙

Gorgeous and lush, soothing for a long night of insomnia 🙏🏼❤️

Congratulations on the newest addition to your family. This was wonderful as always.

A truly lovely story. What a treat.

Truly lovely.

I love her stories. They are interesting and entertaining, but done in a way that I drift off to sleep.

Thank you and all the best from my family to yours all the way from Australia. 🙏💚🌛🌞

Thanks for another beautiful sleep story. Wishing you a nice summer break and a sweet second child. I'm looking forward to finding your stories again.

Your work is magical and I will look forward to your future stories. Wishing you and your family health and happiness on the journey with your new baby. Congratulations!

Congratulations on the upcoming birth of your baby! 💕

Thanks for a peaceful story before bed and best wishes for your upcoming birth hope mom and bad do well xxx

Excellent addition to my list of favorites. Thank you. Wishing you the very best as you welcome your second child.
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Congratulations on your little one and thank you for helping us to fall asleep 🥰🧡