The Frost Fairy

In tonight’s fantasy sleep story, as the world turns and the last harvest is brought inside, you rise to spread ice across the land. You are the Frost Fairy: the architect of the sleep of winter, taking the torch from your autumnal cousin and shepherding the world into a replenishing darkness.

If you’re still awake as the story concludes, I’ll guide you through a body scan and meditation on the healing power of darkness.

Music/Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon and Fairy Dance by Flouw, Nordic Dreams by Bruce Brus, Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Bring in a new season with wintry fairy magic in tonight's fantasy bedtime story.

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 it serves you,

And whenever you're ready,

Feel free to let go of the story and make your way into sleep.

If you are still awake at the end of the story,

I'll guide you through a body scan,

Then meditation on the healing power of darkness.

In tonight's story,

As the world turns and the last harvest is brought inside,

You rise to spread ice across the land.

You are the frost fairy,

The architect of the sleep of winter,

Taking the torch from your autumnal cousin and shepherding the world into a replenishing darkness.

Behold the frostwork on the pain,

The wild,

Fantastic limmings and etchings.

Can there be any doubt but that this subtle agent has been here?

Where is it not?

It is the life of the crystal,

The architect of the flake,

The fire of the frost,

The soul of the sunbeam.

This crisp winter air is full of it,

John Burroughs,

Winter sunshine.

There is,

In the sigh of space between the seasons,

A sparkling silence that hangs like mist.

And then,

There is a bell.

It rings only once,

At the exact midpoint between one season and the next,

The exact moment of transition.

It can sound like laughter,

Or settling sea foam,

Or the crackle of campfire,

Or the sprinkling of snow.

And there are very few who are able to hear it.

Only those who know how to listen to the songs of the earth,

This planet of intangible mystery.

Only people like you,

You have come to know the sound of the bell like the song of your own heart.

After all,

It wakes you once each year,

On a crisp and quiet night,

Between the sunset and the dawn.

It's your call to adventure.

For three of the earth's seasons you sleep blissfully,

Cloaked in cool mosses and undergrowth,

Like butterflies enclose themselves within the chrysalis,

Transforming unseen through the alchemy of sleep.

You wrap yourself in a sugar-spun blanket and await the hour.

In the safety of your cocoon,

You restore,

Refresh,

And ready for the next spin you'll take about the earth.

Your wings,

Which tatter and tire over the course of your seasonal movements,

Are rejuvenated within.

Your body strengthens.

The world turns outside your shell,

Nourishing seeds,

Sending up flowers and budding the branches.

But a universe of change is occurring within,

Beneath sleep's regenerative enchantment,

And in the spell of a moment,

In the echo of the ring of a bell,

Sleep's charm is lifted.

You emerge from your nest,

Stretch your arms to the pearly moon,

And try your wings for the first time in many months.

They unfold with the sensation of a long-held sigh,

Translucent and iridescent in the night's gleam.

Your skin and wings reflect the shimmering moonlight,

So you seem innately effulgent,

How satisfying it is to unfurl,

Like the petals of a night-blooming flower,

And re-emerge into the world,

Like a patchwork quilt across the forest floor,

Like layers of crisp fallen leaves.

They crackle in response to even your tiniest movements,

A rippling percussion.

Overhead are the branches they once called home,

Now bare and delicate like bones,

Making puzzles across the deep blue of the midnight sky.

Feathers seem to hang like baubles on the trees,

Blinking brightly.

Not far off,

There is movement,

Twixt the trees,

And shining light in shades that shift between crimson,

Auburn,

And gold.

You lift an armed wave to the bouncing orb,

Your autumnal cousin.

Having overseen the last leaf's fall,

The final breath of her season,

She waves back as she retires for her time of rest,

Her wings are withered and eyelids heavy as she floats downward to the forest floor.

It's only at this tender moment,

This passing pause at the end of one season and the start of another,

That you cross paths with the fall fairy.

So you cherish the fleeting sight of her all the more,

That there is little time to spend in greetings or catchings up.

The bell has rung,

And the whole world awaits your gentle touch.

With discerning hand,

You shall take to flight,

Bringing the first frost over your territories.

The last harvest lies behind,

And the shortest day ahead.

Now is a time of lengthening darkness and deepening chill,

Of hibernation and withdrawal.

Now is the time for carrion birds to inherit the earth,

And for evergreen trees to prove their mettle.

These are beautiful things.

The tools of your trade are few,

In fact,

Singular.

A wand,

Fashioned anew each year,

From the very essence of frost.

With your feet light on the ground,

Toes in the cold topsoil,

You close your eyes and summon a suite of images to your mind,

Fractal patterns,

Tessellated panes,

A spectrum of colors blooming from the dazzle of sunlight on glass,

Icy blues,

Wintry pinks,

Pale greens,

And deep violets,

Snow-laden branches ready to snap,

Snowflakes melting on black eyelashes,

White skies,

Frozen lakes,

Frost-covered window panes,

A pleasing shiver runs down your spine,

And the first inkling of winter magic swells within your chest,

Trickling like water down your arms and into your fingertips.

You open your eyes,

Place the tips of your forefingers and thumbs together,

And begin to pull your hands apart,

Meeting unseen resistance.

In the space now between your hands,

Gathered up from your frosty intentions,

There crystallizes a slender cylinder,

A wand.

You grasp it,

Twinkling,

And hold it to the light of the moon,

To admire your handiwork.

Delicate spirals cascade down its shaft,

And it is tipped with the likeness of an intricate snowflake to test its capabilities.

You lower the wand to the layer of curled,

Dead leaves at your feet,

With only the slightest touch of the wand to the brown edge of a single leaf.

There plumes a dusting of sparkling frost.

It spreads like a sprinkling of powdered sugar across the florist floor in only seconds,

And where once there was the activity of decay,

Now there is a shining sheen,

A moment in time preserved.

With your new wand in hand,

And your wings at last warmed,

You kick off from the ground and begin your first flight of the season.

A trail of shimmering frost follows your movement like an afterglow.

It feels good to fly again after so long confined,

And you tumble and roll through the endless space with an outpouring of energy and joy.

You touch your wand to the tresses of pine and cedar,

Letting a kiss of frost accumulate upon the needles of midnight green.

You sweetly frost the petals of a cluster of witches' thimble,

Turning the bell-shaped blooms to frozen lavender statuary.

There's a shallow lake at the edge of the wood,

And you flutter toward it on a gust of night breeze.

Gently you drift down toward it,

Till your tiny feet just skim the surface where you meet the water,

Wand trailing behind you.

Spirals of sparkling frost trace themselves like feathers forward and back.

You skate freely,

Freezing the ripples and wakes as you go to the last of the dandelions,

Rounded with fuzzy seeds swaying under your wings.

You bestow glittering ice crystals so they become tiny mirror balls on the forest floor,

With the woods all a sparkle.

You venture onward into the open air,

Where the moonlight,

Unhindered by latticed branches and evergreen boughs,

Shines all the brighter.

In its beams you are illuminated and opalescent,

Changing color and character on the night In a garden,

Past holly hedge and archway,

You harden the soil.

Your work is important,

This task of turning the earth cold so that it may sleep,

Restore itself,

But there is a bitter sweetness to it.

Those glorious flowers that persist through spring's promise and summer's heat to reach the calm of autumn,

To them you utter thanks and blessings.

To the moonflowers on the vine you incline your head and admire how they reflect the beauty of their namesake,

Then,

With a glisten of ice,

They fold in on themselves,

Trumpets diminished.

To an abundant hedge of wine-red dahlias you sigh and wish peace,

These you touch ever so lightly with the tip of your wand,

Watching as,

For one blissful moment,

They take on a fine coating of frost,

Which only enhances their beauty,

And an instant later,

Their buoyant heads droop and petals wither.

Way down to the earth,

This is the nature of the season,

And mournful though it may be to kiss the flowers goodbye,

Their very impermanence is essential to their beauty.

Would we love the flowers as much if they bloomed from January to January,

Or do we cherish them so much more,

Drink deeper of their glory because they raise their heads in the moments we need them most,

Before moving on in the cycle of life,

Death,

And rebirth,

Some blooming for whole months or seasons,

And others,

Like the moonflower,

For a single wondrous day,

Certainly you've entertained some envy for your cousin,

The spring fairy,

Who has the privilege of waking the flowers after a long winter's sleep,

And for the summer fairy,

Who brings them to full bloom,

Setting whole hillsides aflame with poppies and blue bonnets,

You take solace in your role as the flower's mediator though,

Bestower of blessings and good wishes for the journey back to the soil,

You are honored to be the one who sees them in their final moments of splendor,

Hovering just upon the threshold of another world,

Now as your feet freeze the soil,

You seal in the seeds,

The next generation to germinate and rise again,

Come spring,

In the same soil,

The decaying flowers will nourish those seeds,

The light of the moon shines in on this garden,

A humble hideaway,

You'd like to stay,

Even among the dying flowers,

This place is peaceful and clearly well-loved,

But there is so much more to do,

So you sprinkle icy dust over the holly hedges,

Breeze the thin layer of water in the fountain,

And bid the lovely place good night,

On you soar through the hours of night,

Across farms and fields and rivers,

Your wingbeats stir the air into swirls of chilly wind,

Which ripple outward over the land,

You land softly on a wooden window frame,

And peer inside to see a dog snoozing on a hearth rug,

And a woman seated in a rocking chair,

Beside the fire,

Knitting needles in hand,

You touch your wand to the corners of the window panes,

The lighting crystals of ice,

An etching fog across the glass,

The amber glow of the fire flickers more vaguely beyond the frosted panes,

You dance tiny gems of ice upon blades of grass,

And you dapple the apple trees with frosty glaze,

You float on moonlit wings through the spirals of night,

Whispering wind and leaves whipped up in your wake,

With swiftness and grace,

You adorn the earth with the first diamonds of winter,

Spiked feathers of frost on the leaves,

Waters,

Rooftops,

And soil,

The world spins beneath you,

And the moon travels down the sky,

Seeming to increase in size as it nears the horizon,

You blow kisses to the moon,

And they rise as clouds of misty,

Visible breath,

The dawn is swiftly approaching,

You can feel it drawing nearer,

Like a warm tingle in your toes and on your shoulders,

When the inhabitants of this world awake,

They'll find their landscape dusted with faint,

Sparkling crystals,

Which will dwindle and fade before the sun makes its first sweep across the sky,

Soon you'll make your retreat for the day,

To store up your strength for the season ahead,

But you've got one last trick up your sleeve for this first night of frost,

It's something just for you,

And those few who passed this night in voracious reading,

Or stayed up to watch the sunrise,

Or toiled the whole night through,

And now head home to sleep the day away,

It's something for those of you who can hear the bell,

The wide earth shrinks beneath you,

As you soar on gossamer wings,

Up,

Up,

Up in spirals toward the starry sky,

Clouds are scudding peacefully by overhead,

Their underbellies soft and flocculent,

One catches your eye,

So perfectly formed and pillowy above,

To this exquisite cloud you float,

And gracefully extend your snowflake tipped wand,

To touch its underside,

A blue white shiver comes over the cloud,

Like a flash of electricity that disappears in a wave,

With a tiny spark that energizes your whole tiny self,

You can sympathetically feel the clouds changing chemistry,

Unlocking its atoms and preparing it to open,

When the first flake falls,

It seems to do so in slow motion,

Drifting,

Whipped on invisible currents of air,

Falling up and down in a windward dance,

More snowflakes begin to fall,

As the cloud releases its hold on them,

You tap your wand to another cloud's rich underside,

And another,

Until you've touched each one in sight,

To deliver a dainty flurry,

Catching the wind,

You balance on tiptoe,

On the thin cascading disc of a snowflake,

This you ride down the sky,

Embracing all its unusual turns and tumbles,

Surrendering to the wintry ballet,

All around you,

The flakes bluster and fly,

Each one displaying a distinct pattern of spikes,

And branches,

Circles and fractals,

They catch the waning moonlight,

And awaken little rainbows within themselves,

But one by one they are melting too,

This is only the first frost after all,

And the turn toward winter is not yet complete,

You never intended these snowflakes to find the earth,

But in their momentary dance,

They are something,

The flake beneath your feet,

Slowly dissolves,

And your wings resume their duty,

To hold you up,

Amid the softening snow,

There will be blankets of white in the future,

The whole landscape transformed,

By fresh feet of accumulation,

And there's a whole wondrous winter ahead,

Tonight is only the beginning,

Only the first night of the season,

To reawaken your gifts,

And become acquainted with your new wand,

The season is a journey,

No matter when or how insistently the bell rings,

To welcome it,

Like all things in nature,

A season must be brought on slowly,

Softly,

Leaving little hints everywhere it goes,

As the steward,

The herald of winter,

Of frost,

Snow and ice,

You are keenly aware of the distaste many have for your line of work,

For your season,

But like the earth,

You understand the necessity,

And indeed the majesty,

Of all her journeys,

After long effort,

There comes a need for sleep,

After growth,

And flourishing,

And reaping,

There comes a need,

An ache,

For renewal,

Renewal which is impossible,

Without the sleep of winter,

Under quilts of snow and sheets of ice,

The frozen soil,

Readies its gifts,

For new life,

Behind warm walls,

The hands that toiled all year,

Can soften,

With the mild activity,

Of celebration,

And care,

In the midst of the cold,

Fires burn brighter,

A promise of the years turning,

Once more,

To the light,

You are the architect,

Of that much needed rest,

The flake and the flurry,

That seems to stop time,

For a season,

The earth needs you,

Loves you,

Thanks you,

As the first sheets of champagne dawn,

Emerge in the east,

Turning your frost sprinklings,

To pink and yellow prisms,

You release a visible sigh,

Pleased with the night's work,

You feel the warmth of the sun's rays,

On your icy wings,

As you retire to the banks,

Of a babbling stream,

Making a nest,

Of twigs and leaves,

You like to be near water,

When you rest,

It is the very essence of your gift,

After all,

And in these tender transitional days,

When the grasp of winter,

Is not yet fully felt,

Across the land,

You like to be reminded,

Of the power water has,

When still it can rush,

The beauty and fluidity,

With which it flows,

Flows,

Making intangible shapes,

And pathways,

On its journey,

Someday soon,

You will freeze these waters,

And they'll hold their form,

For a time,

Undefined,

Motionless,

And aching,

To break free,

When the sun warms the waters again,

And their movement is unleashed,

However,

They'll retain the memory,

Of the time they spent,

Under your spell,

Just as the flower remembers,

The time when it was a seed,

Beneath frozen soil,

And the seed,

Remembers the embrace,

Of the mother plant,

Before it was dropped,

To grow on its own,

And just as every drop of water in the ocean,

Recalls that fine and fleeting time,

That it was a snowflake,

Breathe deeply,

Filling the belly with cool,

And cleansing air,

And release,

Slowly exhaling,

Feeling your whole body melt into your space,

Softening,

Like melting snow,

With your eyes closed,

Find stillness,

And a sense of inner peace,

And quiet,

And inner darkness,

Like the unpolluted night,

In which the stars can shine even brighter,

For the contrast,

As you prepare for sleep,

Reflect on the healing qualities of darkness,

And how the darker half of the year,

Facilitates our retreat inward,

Our focus on ourselves,

And restful rhythms,

That may be less accessible,

In times of abundant light,

Find gratitude,

For the depth of darkness,

In the months of autumn,

And winter,

In darkness,

Our bodies turn on all sorts of cues,

To slow down,

Rest,

Sleep,

And heal,

In the absence of light,

We rebuild,

And repair,

Making new connections,

And restoring that which is worn down,

By hard work,

And high levels of activity,

Like us,

The natural world needs darkness,

To facilitate growth,

And renewal,

Plants and trees intuitively anticipate the changing of seasons,

Based on the changing of the light in their environment,

By reconnecting to natural rhythms,

And cycles,

Light and darkness,

We deepen our relationship to nature,

And recall that we are part of it,

Not separate from it,

Darkness nourishes our roots,

Carries our seeds forward,

Into spring,

Holding this knowledge,

Let your breath settle into a calm,

Natural rhythm,

Connecting it to the repetition of cycles in nature,

Inhaling the light,

Energy,

And abundance of spring and summer,

Exhaling the deceleration,

Recovery,

And rest of autumn and winter,

Keep breathing,

At the top of your inhale,

And the bottom of your exhale,

Find a fluidity in the transition,

Creating a circle of your breath,

A cycle that flows in and out,

Cresting and falling,

Turning like the earth,

Between light and darkness,

Send your breath now to the crown of your head,

Softening the scalp,

The forehead,

The temples,

The muscles of the face,

Release the jaw,

Relax the tongue away from the roof of your mouth,

Loosen the lips,

Breathe into the muscles of your neck,

Where your neck meets your shoulders,

Allowing the breath to carry away any excess tension here,

Relax in the shoulders,

Shoulder blades,

And upper arms,

Soften and breathe into the elbows,

The forearms,

The wrists,

The palms,

And backs of the hands,

Sending breath into all the fingertips,

Allow the energy to pour outward through the fingertips,

Like water or magic,

Breathe relaxation into the torso,

The belly,

The back,

Softening the hips,

The hip flexors,

Allowing any tension or stored emotion here to simply melt away,

Relax the pelvis,

The thighs,

The knees,

The lower legs,

Send breath and softness to the ankles,

The heels,

The soles and tops of the feet,

And all the way down into your toes,

Letting the energy flow outward from the tips of your toes,

Breathe and feel the whole body nourished by the breath,

Soft and tender here,

Relieved of tension,

Releasing the day,

The season,

The year,

To embrace this essential time of rest,

Imagine the whole body enveloped softly in a chrysalis of healing,

Magical darkness,

A safe,

Warm enclosure spun from your breath and your own intentions,

A vessel to carry you into the restorative realm of sleep,

The space of transformation,

Breathe,

Feeling held,

Supported by this darkness,

Carry the wisdom of the healing nature of darkness,

The necessity and magic of winter,

Through the days ahead,

Through your waking and sleeping hours,

Embracing a slower pace,

Allowing yourself grace,

And making space for restoration and transformation,

For firming up your roots,

For gathering snow on your limbs,

For visiting the seeds in the ground without asking anything of them,

Know that just by being there,

By weathering the darkness and the cold,

They are doing enough,

You are doing enough,

Wishing you peace,

Healing,

And blessings in this season,

And in every turning of the wheel,

Good night.

Reviews

Really glad I found this one. Thank you, Laurel. 🙏👍😘👌💕🐱🐱

Wonderfully done and very relaxing ☺️ thank you for the adventure

This is such a remarkably beautiful meditation….poetic with strong visualizations…..such a calming voice…perfect as the winter solstice newrs…I will listen again and again….comforting. Thank you 💕💕💕

Loved this especially with the change of season wish I had heard the end of it xx