Watership Down Hawthorn Berries

Watership Down Hawthorn Berries – In honor of the full moon of June, the great silver mistress of tides and stories, I am launching a new branch of Gray Report Letters called Leveret Letters, for children and adolescents. Similarly, it will come monthly, and it will involve deep mythology, magic, and ecology. Instead of separate stories, however, Leveret Letters will be a series of sections within a larger story, a chronicle of sorts…

Here’s how the story goes: two young black-tailed rabbits, the leopards Myrtle and Mallow, lead an ordinary country girl named Comfrey and an ordinary city boy named Tin in adventure. through mole tunnels, coastal date palms, fir forests and seal-filled beaches of the wild world right next to the one we know. It is located just off the highway, past the stalls of dill and blackberry. It is just through the raspberry where the foxes have created the tunnels. It was just there, between the cracks in the city sidewalks, where the dandelions grew, and right here, beyond the pages of our books, in the chirping of birds outside the window.

Watership Down Hawthorn Berries

Based on the overall plot of the Russian fairy tale Ivan, the Firebird, and the Gray Wolf, Leveret Letters is a monthly installment in the adventures of Comfrey and Tin as they learn to navigate the wonders of the natural world. wild they always knew. name, and just wait for them to start speaking its language.

Watercolours With Life: October 2011

Now, let’s follow the swift tracks of the twins Myrtle and Mallow as they lead the children from the thimbleberry bushes where the kind ladies give them tea, to the Kings who demand that the babies be recovered. magical creatures, to an open savannah full of elk, whose Queen longs to unite with her stolen sister, to a wild Pacific island rife with killers humans and seals nest, and the site created there must be retrieved before the too-missing world becomes intertwined with it.

In the spirit of Redwall, Wind in the Willows, Watership Down, George MacDonald’s children’s fairy tales, Alice in Wonderland, My Side of the Mountain and The Chronicles of Narnia, Leveret Letters is a period epic. Modern, episodic, adventure, deep wild magic, mythology, ecology, and children’s wisdom. These chronicles are heavily rooted in the landscape I call home—the basins of the Coast Range just north of San Francisco and the geologically unique Point Reyes Peninsula, just above the San Francisco Fault. Andreas. They encourage their readers to locate myth and magic not only in the wilds of Old Europe of so many familiar stories, but in their own backyards and nearby sanctuaries. .

The monthly letter, packaged similarly to the Gray Fox Clerk, is a piece in this chronicle, ranging in length from 10,000 words (the Opening Letter) to an overall average of about 5,000. The stories will build on each other, but will also stand alone. Any subscriptions after the first month will automatically receive a free Introductory Letter and can fill out Intervention Letters as they see fit. A simple illustration or two will accompany each section and a sweet hint of the wild, along with some magical worlds to reconnect young readers to the wonders just outside the back door of the show. surname in a new way, will be sorted into each Letter.

All Leveret letters are written for an audience of 7 to 13 years old and beyond! Advanced young readers are certainly welcome — the content can be complex and detailed at times, but not inappropriate.

Parageography Course 2019 08 29

I am passionate about creating inspiring and magical stories for young readers to reconnect hearts with the integrity of our place in the natural world. Our young people need to be as immersed in the true wonder of nature as possible, and reconnect with their place in the family of things, the better.

I am also passionate about creating an experience of the excitement and tactile joy associated with receiving a physical parcel in the mail. In an increasingly digital-dependent world, I believe that children and young adults especially need more “magic” to reach them not through the computer screen but through the real world, the senses.

These stories can be carried out in the garden, in the trees, on the terrace, on the beach, and can be read aloud there or silently. Of course, reading a book before going to bed with a cup of hot milk and honey is also a perfect place! These Leveret Letters can be berry smudged, stained and can be read aloud to nearby trees, rose bushes, cats, honey bees.

So go and register your child, grandchild, niece, nephew, pal, sister, brother, or yourself, right in the right column! The prologue will arrive around the FULL MOON of July (22nd).

Country Life Magazine

When Tin saw a pink-orange glow near the low branches of a fir tree just below the next hill, he quickly crouched behind a rock covered with green lichen. The hare Mallow, moving its black ears, raised its eyes just above the rock, then darted back.

“It’s her, no doubt.” His whiskers quivered as he spoke, like he’d caught a bit of a bird’s fire there, just by looking at her. “I suppose you have to have some intelligence about you after all, to get us here,” continued the leopard, then turned to cut the lichen in the rock. Tin accepted his words as a compliment and smiled. “Beginner’s luck,” concluded the rabbit, still turning.

“No,” Tin said softly, “it’s feathers. It’s like it crawls into my chest and blows fire into my heart as we approach her. ” He pulled the feathers from his velvet coat, which were tinged with ash and torn in the back as they passed through the brush. Feathers were the color of the hottest part of the fire, crafted to perfection. but it was only warm, not burning, in the boy’s hand and as long as his forearm.Tin then slowly stood up, with the feather raised like a candle to give light, even though it was day. .

“What are you doing?” Mallow hissed. Tin did not answer. He walked on tiptoe, like the ground, a verdant green with new grass growing after winter storms, the skin of a sleeping animal. The red-tailed, flaming hawk from the stars her wings had grazed when migrating centuries ago — Firebird, Phoenix, Bird of Light — turned slowly to watch the boy. Her tail is long with flames, the red being even darker than the rest of her body. Her eyes, yellow, rimmed with black, were two suns above him. Tin feels warm.

Under The Witching Tree

“What, are you going to bring her down, some kind of Bird-Whisperer?” Mallow hissed again, loudly, furiously. “Since when are you a Bird-Whisperer? You will be caught! “

In an instant, all of Tin’s life vanished from his mind, and he was left with only his fiery hawk, the line it made between them, navel and embers. He feels very peaceful.

A loud crack pierced the edge of the fir forest between Firebird and Tin. The boy jumped down, dropped the feather, and the bird perched on a high branch. She let out an annoyed whistle; she likes passionate stares, and she has never met a boy in person before. It was followed by crackling and dragging footsteps on duffel, gasping breaths, and then a girl darted out of the trees into the clearing. A hare identical to Mallow, only female and therefore slightly wider in hips and narrower in bones, confined to the girl’s ankle. The girl screamed when she saw Tin, and he jumped in surprise.

Tin had never seen a girl like her before – at his age, and as far as he could tell, a normal child, not a lynx, a half daughter-in-law or a cub. crossbreed dog. She also has a backpack, a red one, and familiar canvas sneakers strapped to it. But she was barefoot, wearing an unusual green dress, tattered but definitely patched in red, and an ordinary blue t-shirt. She has several necklaces – gold chains with shells or stones with holes in the middle threaded into them. She wears her black hair in a braid, reaching a V-shape on her forehead, the top of a widow. Her cheeks are very red and her ears are hanging out. She smiled brightly as Tin stared.

Book Tour (main Shelf)

“Myrtle!” Mallow cried out from behind the rock, and jumped out, approaching his twin in a rope. They clicked their noses, tangled their ears, and began to trim the new green together, muttering together in low leveret voices.

“Who are you? You’ve got her feathers!” Comfrey said after a pause. She herself wasn’t used to seeing a boy her age dressed quite well-cut, short. plaid shirt, velvet jacket with a collar with two flaps in the back His hair, she smiled to herself, greasy every afternoon, a little red and messy in her slumber.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Myrtle sighed from near their ankles. “Comfrey, this is Martin, Tin for short. Believe, this is