Something about these two touches a different place in my love of fairy tales. I'm struggling to put words to it. It's about mysteries inside of the ordinary. A galaxy within a knothole, a chunk of crystal opening up to the universe.
Sitting here in the living room, looking around... The cigar box that holds finished cloths, what if the lid lifted and it turned out to be the bedroom of a tiny being using these cloths for quilts, or if violets were growing behind the books on the shelves and just beginning to peek out from between them? What if every nook and cranny held secret worlds?
Something inside swells with awe while imagining a breaking open that exposes unexpected and dazzling. The idea of there being more, and magic, possibly anything... It makes the ordinary extraordinary.
Wishing you such imaginings, too.
( "Secret Places" and "When Crystals Crack" are in the shop.)