Search Results

“Ashes” is a fun, exciting, lighthearted read that kept my interest from beginning to end. Had I read it at 12, I’d have adored it. Our heroine, Ashley, is definitely not living the deluxe life as the stepdaughter of the truly horrid Veronica. She’s got two vapid stepsisters to boot—there are so many mean girls in this story! But Ashley is no wallflower. She’s got the spunk to take on the villains and push back. Fortunately, not only does she have an interestingly weird job after school, Ashley also has a terrific bestie, and Harry, her pop star love interest, is genuinely lovable. The positive supporting characters are as well-drawn as the villains. You don’t often see that. And of course, this is a fairy godmother situation. I loved how both Ashley and Harry had points of view chapters. Both of them were relatable, even though this is a supernatural fairy-tale-inspired book. They worry about prom and getting in trouble with adults, and feel shy and experience big feelings. Harry may be famous, but he’s a real person. I don’t want to tell too much, as this story could easily be ruined by spoilers. I’ll just say that even though the story is mostly light, the villain is genuinely treacherous, which definitely makes the book more fun! The book is set up for a sequel, and I’ll happily read it. Because of Fairy Tale Magazine, I also have a lot to compare this book to, and it holds up well against the competition. “Ashes” feels like a young teen’s book, but older teens and adults who want to escape into a charming, light read, will find it to be fun as well. Thanks to NetGalley for providing a copy of the ebook to read. Review by Kate Wolford

Each poem in Stephanie Parent’s collection Every Poem a Potion, Every Spell a Song showcases the poet’s love for traditional and popular variants of fairy tales that shape women’s lives. In a stunning blend of personal confession and narrative exploration, Parent weaves modern life into the plots of famous fairy tales like Cinderella, Snow White, and Rapunzel and introduces readers to lesser-known stories such as The Juniper Tree, Vasilisa the Beautiful, and The Maiden Without Hands. Often, as is the case with her series of poems on Jorinda and Joringel, Parent presents fairy tale plots through multiple lenses, providing new and seasoned readers with innovative ways of understanding the characters. Using words and images that both burn and soothe, Parent leads her readers to confront the beauty and horror of fairy tales as a way of exploring their own relationships, responsibilities, and desires, ultimately concluding that the tales, while imperfect, help us all to discover our identities and save ourselves. The writing in Parent’s collection will cast a spell over readers as they revel in her poetic potions which mingle the mundane with the magical, breathing new life into the old stories that remain an important part of our future. You can find Every Poem a Potion, Every Spell a Song HERE. Kelly Jarvis teaches classes in literature, writing, and fairy tale at Central Connecticut State University, The University of Connecticut, and Tunxis Community College. She lives, happily ever after, with her husband and three sons in a house filled with fairy tale books. She is also Enchanted Conversation’s special project’s writer.

Hello Enchanted Friends: I’m busy picking stories and poems for the next issue, and with that in mind, I want to let you know that the August issue will be a small one. We will then go on hiatus in terms of buying and publishing new work through the end of the current year. That means submission windows will not be open again for publication in 2022. We are doing this to allow us to save money and time for the new publication we are launching in 2023! This is a long post, but please read the whole thing. I hope you’ll like what I’m saying here. Here are some of the big changes: We have a gorgeous new site thanks to Amanda Bergloff, Art Director and all-around-site genius. Our theme for 2023 is LOVE, with a special emphasis on romance. There will be two reading periods for next year’s submissions. I haven’t nailed down the dates exactly, yet, but I’m thinking that the first will be from early December of this year through mid-January, 2023. The second will probably be from the beginning of next May through mid-June. I’ll announce them formally in the next couple of months. We are publishing four issues next year. We will still be paying $50 per work (and probably buy around 30 total works next year), but I am going to allow a wider range for length, because some writers would rather be paid less per word and tell a longer story. That has been a consistent concern for many writers for years when they submit to us. The four issues next year will be available in a splendid digital magazine form from the platform ISSUU. The issues will be filled with art, poetry, short stories and “The Best of” from years past. (Best of writers will be contacted and have a new contract when we do that, and can refuse to participate.) At the end of the year, we will publish a print yearbook for 2023. That means that stories and poems (including “The Best of”) published digitally from 2023 will be on actual paper! At last! We will formally be doing business as “The Enchanted Press,” starting Jan. 1, 2023. We will also be a nonprofit. That means that what we earn has to significantly go to the health and welfare of the business, and that’s how I’d like to run things. Our financial statements will have to be filed with the state of Indiana starting in January, because we will have to be transparent. The other reason why we are going nonprofit is that we are going behind a paywall starting in January, and I hope that knowing the magazine is run as a nonprofit will encourage people to pay the low subscription rate per year. I haven’t decided how much the subscriptions will be, but they will not be high cost, I promise. Yes, you will be able to buy single digital issues, but the value of a yearly subscription will be higher. The yearbook will be sold separately. We are going behind the paywall so the magazine can continue. It’s that simple. With the stock market in a mess, inflation on the rise, and my husband and I approaching our retirement years, I have to find a way to keep the magazine going and at least have it break even. But we hope to do so much more. If enough people subscribe and become patrons, we can become a small-time book publisher of anthologies and poetry chapbooks. We dream of making The Enchanted Press a small but very real player in the fairy-tale/magic realism segment of the book market. To that end, in addition to subscriptions, we’ll be offering memberships at different levels to help support the site, and we’ll be selling merchandise on the site. We will not be using Patreon—and that campaign was suspended at the beginning and of this month—but will have our own pledge system that cuts the cost of Patreon out. We hope the added value we offer next year will encourage people to subscribe and buy memberships that will allow The Enchanted Press to expand. Next to last: There will be a spectacular serialized novel for subscribers in 2023, and I couldn’t be prouder! I’ll be dropping more hints in the future, but it’s by Lissa Sloan, one of my favorite writers. (That’s in addition to all the great work the very talented Kelly Jarvis, Contributing Editor, will be doing for the magazine.) Finally, Enchanted Conversation has officially become The Fairy Tale Magazine. To be honest, I got tired of having to write out Enchanted Conversation a long time ago, and I want the publication to reflect fairytalemagazine.com. The new site will reflect the name change. That’s all! Feel free to comment below or email me at katewolford1@gmail.com. Yours in Enchantment, Kate Wolford

Check out Kate's fabulous fairy tale finds that you can enjoy, too! This week's pick: THE BLACK FORAGER Here’s the first of what I hope will be many of “Kate’s Picks.” I was raised to shop and to consume with care and intuition (thanks Mom!), and I greatly enjoy sharing my finds. In fact, picking stories and poems and publishing them is a lot like shopping for an important meal. All of the ingredients must be chosen to work both individually and as a whole. As for food, my first official pick is the “Black Forager,” a.k.a., Alexis Nikole. This 2022 James Beard Award winner for social media influence has TikTok, Instagram and Twitter accounts—and are they ever fun and informative. Inspired by her African and indigenous roots, the Black Forager, using incredibly peppy and charmingly informative videos, teaches fans how to forage for edible foods wherever they find themselves. I’ve seen her forage, cook and eat something improbable in a one minute video. And I’ve laughed while watching her do it. For instance, look up her “daylily pickles.” She teaches you how to find the “ditch lily” buds, and how to pickle them, and of course, eat them. As a pickle fiend, they look scrumptious to me. But there are other little videos on issues like the various zoning laws that might affect the forager. As NPR reports, “For those not familiar with the term, Nelson says foraging is essentially ‘a very fun way to say, I eat plants that do not belong to me and I teach other people how to do the same thing.’” Even with all the fun, the serious issues get addressed. If you’re wondering what foraging has to do with a fairy tale site, I’ll tell you: Just how do you think all of those fairy tale protagonists sustain themselves over the long, long journeys they often have to take? Do you think they never forage for blackberries like my sisters and I did back in the ‘60s and ‘70s? Or scarfed up onion grass like my grandson does? Even Hansel and Gretel were able to find a few berries. “Foraging,” “folklore,” and “fairy tales” all start with “F” and that’s just one connection. As for Black and indigenous Americans, of course they would have supplemented their regular diet with foraging. So did white people. Foraging is a thing humans do, period. All over the world. We always have and we always will, and it’s especially beautiful to see Alexis Nikole tapping into her own roots. Nowadays, fancy restaurants take city people on foraging tours, and it’s a hot food trend. But I can’t imagine anyone delivering foraging lessons with more zeal and humor than Alexis Nikole. With her fabulous glasses, hair accessories and perfect lip color, she’s a bright spirit, delivering what you need to know with laughs, bouncy filming, and many closeups. There’s also a whole lot of wisdom and science and safety warnings delivered painlessly. Indeed, the Black Forager’s frequent video signoff is perhaps the funniest, most folkloric thing she could say: “Happy snacking. Don’t die!” I’ve linked a YouTube video on dandelions HERE, but the Black Forager is easiest to find on: TikTok @alexisnikole And Instagram @blackforager You can also find her on Twitter @blackforager Join the millions of fans who already love the Black Forager. Some bandwagons are worth jumping on and this is one of them. See you next week!

Editor's Note: Today's Poetry Showcase is a summer jewel of a poem originally published in 2016. Enjoy! The Summer Fairy wears a sea-green bikini under a diaphanous yellow tunic and shiny flit-flops on her feet. Her wings look like bright, intricately patterned Japanese paper lanterns. She has a small fan at the back of her neck that magically whirs to life when it gets very hot. The Summer Fairy’s eyes are the blue of a chlorinated swimming pool in August; her voice sounds like the boom and rushing spatter of a July thunder storm. The Summer Fairy can sometimes be glimpsed in the floating dark spots you see after staring at the sun too long. Because she is the best swimmer of all the fairies, you might also catch sight of her through the glaze of sunlit water on your face as you break the surface from diving. The Summer Fairy enchants adults into taking extra vacation days and makes children forget everything they learned in school that year. In the city, she goes to picnics in parks and parties on apartment rooftops where she clings to swizzle sticks and the little paper umbrellas in drinks and snacks on dips with baby carrots, buzzing over them like a firefly. Afterward, the hostess will wonder why she ran out of appetizers when she made sure to buy extra. Often the Summer Fairy is drawn by the scents from street fair booths that sell magical oils and incense. Then she’ll help the Tarot card readers by whispering secrets to them about their clients. She’ll make vegans want to eat greasy sausage and peppers and corn dogs. Her hair becomes woven with blue and pink wisps of spun sugar as she whirls around for a fun ride in the cotton candy machine. If you win at the street fair toss games or wheels of fortune, it’s because she likes you, and wants you to have a large sparkly stuffed unicorn. If you always lose, try leaving her some funnel cake and a vanilla milkshake on your kitchen floor by moonlight. The Summer Fairy answers those anonymous ads on Craigslist posted by people who have fallen in love with an attractive stranger glimpsed once while commuting. Usually, it's her they’ve seen, and when they meet again, she whisks the unsuspecting, besotted humans off to Fairyland, never to be seen till many seasons later. She’ll deposit them, spent but happy, like empty soda cans on the nearest cold beach in the fall. Lorraine Schein is a New York writer. Her work has appeared in Strange Horizons, Mad Scientist Journal, Gigantic Worlds, Aphrodite Terra, and the anthologies Drawn to Marvel, Phantom Drift, and Alice Redux. Detail from Alphonse Mucha painting.

The Golden Age of Illustration is a term applied to a time period (1880s - 1920s) of unprecedented excellence in book and magazine illustrations by artists in Europe and America. Advances in technology at the time allowed for accurate and inexpensive reproductions of their art, which allowed quality books to be available to the voracious public demand for new graphic art. When many people think of the Golden Age of Illustration, Arthur Rackham, Edmund Dulac, and other male artists come to mind, but there were also female artists that excelled during this time. Margaret Evans Price was one such artist that produced magical work, so learn a bit more about her and her art below... Margaret Evans Price (1888 - 1973) was an American children's book illustrator and author, but did you know that she was a co-founder of Fisher Price, one of the world's most popular toy manufacturers? Margaret was interested in art from a young age and when she was twelve, she sold her first illustrated story to the Boston Journal. She received a formal art education in Boston at the Boston Academy of Fine Arts, then moved to New York City for freelance illustration work. There, she worked for publications like Harper & Brothers, Rand McNally, and Stecher Lithography creating illustrations for children's books of fairy tales and myths. But illustration work was not her only career path as in 1930, along with her husband, Irving L. Price, Helen Schelle, and Herman J. Fisher, Margaret co-founded the Fisher-Price toy company that still exists today. She was the first Art Director of Fisher-Price where she designed push-pull toys based on characters from her children's books. Margaret continued to exhibit her art in national galleries in the U.S. after the formation of Fisher-Price. Her art was not only published in children's books, but also in Nature Magazine, The Women's Home Companion, and Pictorial Review. A permanent collection of her works are housed at the New York Historical Society. Margaret's simple, graphic style, combined with her beautiful compositions, makes her art enchanting for children and adults. Check out her work below: From Once Upon a Time - A Book of Old-Time Fairy Tales, 1921 From Enchantment Tales for Children, 1926 From A Child's Book of Myths, 1929 From Once Upon a Time - A Book of Old-Time Fairy Tales, 1921 From Off to Bed, 1920 Cinderella & Her Godmother, 1939 From Once Upon a Time - A Book of Old-Time Fairy Tales, 1921 The Land of Nod, 1916 The Old Woman & Her Pig, 1928 From A Child's Book of Myths, 1926 On the Road to Storyland, 1926 From A Child's Book of Myths, 1926 Beauty & The Beast, 1921 Little Red Riding Hood & The Wolf, 1921 From A Child's Book of Myths, 1926 And if you'd like to read a full children's book that Price illustrated, you can find The Troubles of Biddy HERE Enchanted Conversation's contributing editor, Amanda Bergloff, writes modern fairy tales and speculative fiction. Her work has appeared in various anthologies, including Frozen Fairy Tales, After the Happily Ever After, and Uncommon Pet Tales. Follow her on Twitter @AmandaBergloff Join her every Tuesday on Twitter for #FairyTaleTuesday to share what you love about fairy tales, folktales, and myths. Also, if you like sharing your #vss fairy tales on Twitter, follow @fairytaleflash and use #FairyTaleFlash so we can retweet! Cover: Amanda Bergloff

Editor's Note: Today's essay, by Priya Sridhar, takes Hans Christian Andersen's tale of "The Little Match Girl," and looks at it through a modern literary interpretation. Enjoy! Modern takes on classic fairy tales can prove fascinating when they subvert the original narrative. Whether it's differing values, updated understanding of gender and economics, and plain wanting to add a new message, you can always find a new spin on older tales. Hans Christian-Andersen (HCA) earned fame in Denmark for his fairy tales. While a few had happy endings, the more infamous ones went to the downer conclusions. HCA believed that true love was hard to find and that sometimes death is the only happiness someone can find in their quest for dignity, or for a warm bed at night. Then modern writers like Terry Pratchett would lovingly mock this, and affirm that everyone may live, getting some comfort. Matches In The Snow "The Little Match Girl" is one of the most depressing HCA tales, and that is saying something. Even the first line warns us about the depression to come: "It was so freezing." We see the title character attempt to sell matches during a cold wintry night. She has a few coverings, and while she left the house with oversized slippers, a boy stole one of them and a horse carriage accidentally knocked off the other. If she doesn't sell any matches, then her father will beat her for bringing no coins home. Rather than go home after no customer comes to help, the girl crouches between two sumptuous houses and starts lighting matches to keep warm. They show her visions of loveliness to help her cope with the cold. People ignore her while going about their commute to work, or doing the shopping. As the night gets cold, the matches show different scenes: warmth from a stove, a good Christmas meal, and a shooting star. When she sees her grandmother in heaven, the girl asks for her grandmother to take her there. HCA was not in a happy state of mind when he wrote this. You can tell that he knew how to get into the mindset of someone facing a bitter cold in winter. Hogfather Says No To This Ending In Discworld, the fantasy parody series by the late Terry Pratchett, the little match girl story plays out during a segment in both the novel and television special Hogfather. Albert and Death encounter her still body in the snow, while Death is filling in for the world's Santa Claus, the Hogfather. Death says that a little girl should not freeze in the night. He says that it is not fair, and this is a chance to right a wrong. Albert, a retired wizard, and overall cynic, tells Death that it's how the winter stories go. Going against the status quo should find disruption. Everyone romanticizes a girl freezing to death in the snow while thanking their stars that it wasn't them. Normal folks have enough food and coal to get through the night and if they don't, then at least they aren't a child freezing in the snow. They can tell stories to make up for the drafty holes in the wall. If Death weren't the Hogfather, and if not for events in previous books, he would have accepted this state of affairs. Death is not fair, and he comes for everyone. An earlier book had him chide an apprentice for saving a princess from a pre-appointed assassination, complete with smacking him on the face for insubordination. But here, Death says no. He gives life, rather than reaps it. The match girl is not a fictional character, but an actual child that he can carry in the snow. You may not see this in the film because it would have broken the budget, but the "affronted" angels show up to collect the match girl's soul and take her to heaven. Albert responds by tossing snowballs at them so they will go away. Even though Albert tells Death to let the story play out as is, he listens to his master. Unlike the original fairy tale, we see the angels attempt to complete the tale. Death asked why didn’t they come earlier, to give the child a hot drink and a blanket. He has a point and shows that he puts his money where his mouth is by picking up the child and asking several constables to give her a place to sleep for the night, and a meal. Angels are supposed to be protectors. Yet they did not protect an innocent kid. Why is it important that Albert toss snowballs at the angels? He shows them how humans feel about the cold, and how an object traditionally used for child's play can prove annoying and disruptive to a formal occasion. This is not a time to be civil, but to show anger. Add A Level Of Disruption Sometimes we cannot accept children freezing in the snow. We can't tell a crying kid, "There are starving children in Somalia, cheer up." You can't let the little match girl serve as your cautionary tale against parental abuse and thieves that steal slippers from the vulnerable. Pick up that child if you can, and change the story. Show that happiness is possible, even if difficult to reach. Instead of waiting for the angels, shoo them away, and use your powers for a new ending. Priya Sridhar has been writing fantasy and science fiction for fifteen years, and counting. Capstone published the Powered series, and Alban Lake published her works, Carousel and Neo-Mecha Mayhem. Priya lives in Miami, Florida with her family. Illustration: The Little Match Girl by Arthur Rackham

Whispers of wind stirred echoes of the past and scattered thoughts of a different time and place through her mind... ~ A. Bergloff In nature, it is the wind that brings in storms, and it is also the wind that clears them away. Wind brings change, and there is beauty in the idea that through the worst storm, the wind will come and usher in the clear blue skies afterwards. This month, The Fairy Tale Magazine is presenting four stories and four poems in the third issue in our series of "weather-works" for 2022 that explore some element of weather - from rain to wind to snow and beyond. So, please enjoy, and as always dear readers... Stay enchanted! - Kate, Amanda, and Kelly "The East Wind listens for the ghosts of last year's sadness..." Windy Season Eve Morton Hear your heart stop in an ocean of silence... The Queen's Temple Alexander Etheridge She could speak with the spirits of the dead during heavy rains... The Stone Sister Betty Stanton All forest adventures should respect nature... Lost and Found in the Rain Alicia Hilton "I am a weather witch, and I would reward each of you with a boon..." Seasonal Affliction Robert Allen Lupton Elf tears do not suffice... Climate Change TS S. Fulk "Who is with you in your storm..." The Shadow Prince Susan K. H. Newman We fly together, up into the light... Light Bird, Shadow Bird Jason P. Burnham MUSIC Sharing an enchanting favorite to accompany this issue: ALL COPYRIGHT to the written works in this issue belong to the individual authors. The Fairy Tale Magazine Editor-in-Chief ~ Kate Wolford Art Director ~ Amanda Bergloff Special Projects Writer ~ Kelly Jarvis Cover Illustration ~ Frank Dicksee Graphics ~ Amanda Bergloff

On the first day of Windy Season, Mina woke at dawn. The house was already filled with life. Her mother boiled water in the kitchen, the hiss of steam matching the clattering of the wind against her window pane. Her brothers whispered in the room beside hers, the walls thin as the skin over their bones. "When the North Wind wakes, He carries a large sword," Vincent said, reciting the chant her family had spoken for years. "He cuts down the trees so the seeds will spread and circle the globe, making new life and forms." "Then the West Wind carries a large spoon to stir the waves," Samuel added, his voice reedy like the wind through the chimney. "He scoops up the pearls, the fish, the whales, and sweeps what we need onto the shore, to eat and rejoice." "Then the South Wind swallows the land whole. He kicks up dust and makes a fuss so we can see our better selves." "While the East Wind listens close for the ghosts of last year's sadness, and He gives them back to the land. So it can start again." "So it can start again," Vincent echoed. Mina repeated the final line for herself, "So it can start again." Then she let out a long breath, like she knew each of her brothers was doing, pretending to be the wind. Mina listened as her brothers scrambled into the kitchen, greeted their mother, and began breakfast. Though Windy Season would last another three months, allowing the dirt, crops, and landscape to change all around them, the first day was special. And while Mina had longed for this moment, she was also afraid. After breakfast and a reading from their grimoire, the family would gather the ashes of the dead. Last year, it was their dog, Sanders. The year before that, there had been no dead, only dried flower petals used as a substitute in order to say Thank You to the spirits for keeping them hale and fit. A different year, there was another dog, Mackenzie. Before that, a stray cat, a calf, and a fox that her father had accidentally killed. Then Mina's memory became fuzzy, like sand grains or snow squalls against a window. This year it was her father in the clay vessel on their mantelpiece. It was he, Jordan Sullivan, who would be released into the wind the first day of Windy Season, so he could begin his long travel to the land of the dead with the help of the four cardinal directions. Like all the deceased in their village, man or animal alike, Jordan had been cremated shortly after death. That had been six months ago, when a flu gripped his chest and not let go. The death midwife, a woman named Bea, delivered the ashes to them and stayed for a celebratory dinner, where they spoke about Jordan Sullivan's life. Though long ago now, Mina was still sure she could smell the venison, cooked potatoes and other root vegetables, and the flowery scent of the death midwife in the air. Mina had been silent during that dinner, only speaking a handful of words about her father--good man, I loved him--and her mother had been saddened. "You are the oldest," she chastised once the death midwife was gone and the ashes of her father remained on the mantelpiece, waiting for Windy Season. "You need to set an example." Mina had taken her lashings and apologized. But she'd also remained quiet, aloof, in the background, a shadow for the following six months. No more. Now that Windy Season had truly begun, she believed she could sing her father into absolution, leading him to his first stop on the journey of the dead. "Well," her mother said, once Mina had joined them at the table. "Look who finally showed up." Mina ate in silence. Her brothers sang their song, and though it moved their mother to tears, she didn't ask them to stop. Once the dishes were cleaned, they gathered their Windy Season gear: goggles, bandanas, and long clothing though the heat of the day would grow. The wind whipped against the house, clattering the windows, and making the chimney scream out. Mina grabbed her father's ashes. When her mother challenged her, she simply said, "Please." "If you're sure, then." Her mother held the door open, her knuckles white against the fierce winds. "Hurry. We do not have much time." The four of them assembled on their front lawn. Trees bent in all directions; all grasses were flattened; and beyond their hands, nothing was visible. Mina licked a finger to check directions, but it was soon caked with dust. Her bandana stood up straight, as if attacked from all sides. She didn't know what direction her father was to begin. "Hurry!" her mother cried. "He cannot wait another year." Mina surveyed the vast horizon. There was no sense of direction, no opening her father could ride to his final resting place. Nothing to see or hold onto. Vincent began to sing. Samuel followed. Their voices warbled, but not with sadness. Their words were plucked by the wind, steering the directions according to the song. When her mother joined in, the directions grew stronger. Mina sang too, the wind following all their voices in tune. At the final verse, Mina opened her father's ashes. They exploded like sparks on a lit fuse, like fireworks from another time period, distant and foreign. The wind took the ashes and held a body in place. A man, a shadow. Perfect. Then he was gone. Her family cried, tears mixing with dirt and making mud on their cheeks. They sobbed for their lost father, their husband, a man named Jordan Sullivan, who was now part of the earth, ready to fly towards his rightful place in the land of the dead. "So it can start again," Mina said. "So it can start again," the wind echoed back. Eve Morton is a writer living in Ontario, Canada. She teaches university and college classes on media studies, academic writing, and genre literature, among other topics. Her poetry book, Karma Machine, was released in late 2020. Find more info on authormorton.wordpress.com. Cover: Amanda Bergloff Twitter @AmandaBergloff Instagram: amandabergloff

A farmer had five sons and when he died his farm was divided into equal shares, one for each son. The sons worked hard, married, and had good harvests for several years. One year, the sons loaded their extra produce on their wagons, drove to town, and sold their crops at market. On their way home, they encountered an old woman covered in mud. She sat crying near a stream. Her wagon was turned over and most of her belongings were scattered along both sides of the stream. Her two horses were mired in the mud. The brothers, being of good heart, stopped and helped the old woman. They dug her horses from the muck and mire. They uprighted her wagon and pulled it from the steam. The oldest and youngest brother repaired two broken wheels and the other three gathered the woman’s belongings from the stream. The middle brother brought the woman water to drink and water to clean herself. They hitched the woman’s horses and then helped her into her wagon. The oldest brother said, “What a beautiful day. We fared well at market and were rewarded by helping you in your difficulties. Safe travels.” The old woman replied, “Don’t be so quick to leave. I thank you. I am not just an old woman. I am a weather witch and I would reward each of you with a boon, a wish if you will. What would you have from me?” The brothers laughed among themselves for they were ones who believed in hard work rather than witchcraft. The youngest brother said, “Let us make wishes. It will make her happy and will do us no harm.” The youngest spoke first to the witch. “I hate winter. I hate cold and I hate chopping wood. I would have no winters on my land.” The second son said, “Spring makes my eyes water and my nose run. I hate rain. I would have no spring on my land.” “Summers make me sweat. I hate heat. No summers for me.” The fourth brother complained about fall and hating the hard work that comes with the harvest. “As you will,” said the witch. The oldest brother thought carefully and asked if he might wait before requesting his favor. The witch agreed and said that he could have a year and a day to make his wish, but no more. They agreed to meet at the same spot in a year and a day. The brothers and the witch went their separate ways. A year later, the four younger brothers came to the oldest brother’s house. The youngest complained. “Without winter, the soil didn’t have time to rest and my crops were weak and died during the hot summer. We’re starving.” The second brother said, “With no spring rains, my crops wilted and died in the over-long summer.” “Without a summer, my crops were not ripened when the first killing frost came. I lost everything.” The fourth brother hung his head. “With no fall to make the harvest, my crops died when winter came.” The oldest brother had made a great harvest and had food in abundance. He welcomed his brothers and their families and promised to feed them. The youngest brother promised to work hard and even chop wood for the coming winter. The oldest brother said, “It is good that you are here for tomorrow is a year and a day since you made your wishes. Come with me. We will meet the weather witch and I will make my wish.” The next morning the five brothers met the old woman at the stream. She greeted them with great cheer. “Hast your wishes worked as you hoped.” “No, they haven’t,” said the oldest brother. “They didn’t choose well. For my boon, I ask that you restore the seasons and the weather to my brothers’ lands. Make things as they were before.” The weather witch looked at the brothers. “Would you have me cancel your wishes?” “Gratefully,” said the youngest. The witch agreed and rode away. The brothers never saw her again. The five brothers all grew good crops the next year and the year after that and for many more years. They worked hard. They rested in the winters, planted in the springs, weeded and watered in the summers, and made harvests in the fall. They never complained about the cold or the heat. They laughed in the rain, sweated in the hot sun, and marveled at the lightning and thunder. They taught their children to take the weather as it comes, for nature knows what it needs. There are reasons for the seasons. Robert Allen Lupton is retired and lives in New Mexico where he is a commercial hot air balloon pilot. Robert runs and writes every day, but not necessarily in that order. Over 180 of his short stories have been published in various anthologies. His novel, Foxborn, was published in April 2017 and the sequel, Dragonborn, in June 2018. His third novel, “Dejanna of the Double Star’ was published in the fall of 2019 as was his anthology, “Feral, It Takes a Forest”. He has four short story collections, “Running Into Trouble,” “Through A Wine Glass Darkly,” “Strong Spirits,” and the newest story collection, “Hello Darkness,” was released on February 14, 2022. All eight books are available from Amazon. Cover: Amanda Bergloff Twitter @AmandaBergloff Instagram: amandabergloff

There’s a scorpion in your mind, and vast fires in your eye. The sun went down ten thousand years ago, its light fell into a swallowing dark. Listen to the bell ringing over a mass grave, hear your heart stop in an ocean of silence. Hear an absolute absence, there where a frigid blue sinks into the forest. Hear the bell stop, watch the fox and the lamb fall into black shadows. Was it in this misty world where you first touched the face of grief? Do you remember those closed eyes, and that first wave of cold rain? One vision bled into the next— the first dream wove with a dark thread a death mask for the final dream . . . it was there that you were born into blind hungers and stark prayers, and it was there where you set out to find a hidden path up the mountain to the Queen of Birds in her ancient temple, where beauty’s word, one perfect word, lights the dusky chambers. Alexander Etheridge has been developing his poems and translations since 1998. His poems have been featured in Wilderness House Literary Review, Ink Sac, Cerasus Journal, The Cafe Review, The Madrigal, Abridged Magazine, Susurrus Magazine, The Journal, and many others. He was the winner of the Struck Match Poetry Prize in 1999. Cover: Amanda Bergloff Twitter @AmandaBergloff

Hiking through a forest preserve, I tried to find myself hiding in dappled shadows. Hazy clouds veiled the sun, unleashed icy drizzle. A blue jay squawked, berating me for trespassing in his territory. The mist thickened. Raindrops beat a staccato patter. My teeth started to chatter, but I was too stubborn to turn back. Down the hill I trod, carefully stepping around a mound of Artomyces pyxidatus clinging to a downed log. I stroked the lacy fungi, so tasty when sautéed, but the coral crown was too perfect to pluck. An old pine tree bent and swayed, whispering, this way. Pinus strobus pointed at a creek. Her branches clacked, a swift jab in my back. The needles tickled, but I dared not laugh. All forest adventurers should respect nature, especially trees, so regal. I crept closer. Wet moss smelled like mysteries. Water gurgled over rocks, saying, come and play. I shed my boots, socks and inhibitions. Algae made the creek bed slick. Bracing cold swirled around my toes. Foam formed a face. The Nereid demanded that I dance. Dumbstruck, I swayed. Dance, she commanded. Geese flying overhead cocked their heads and honked while I pranced. I spun in a circle and fell on my ass. The Nereid vanished, but I heard her laughing with me. Alicia Hilton believes in angels and demons, magic, and monsters. Her work has appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Enchanted Conversation, Modern Haiku, Neon, Unnerving, Vastarien, Year’s Best Hardcore Horror Volumes 4, 5 & 6, and elsewhere. Her website is https://www.aliciahilton.com. Follow her on Twitter @aliciahilton01. Cover: Amanda Bergloff Twitter @AmandaBergloff Instagram: amandabergloff