The green ones have come from the other world, tipsy like the breeze up to some foolishness…

—Rumi

As I was assembling this seasonal altar in the forest yesterday, I had a strong flash of body memory from when I was a kid. I had a book about a little girl who made furniture for faeries… I don’t really remember what the story was, but I remember the bodied feeling of enchantment specific to that story. Now there’s a whole new story to be stitched together from the gossamer threads of this breezy forest interlude. In the mix is a seam linking old Irish faerie lore and Rumi’s mention of ‘the other world’.