As Christmas 2017 draws nigh, I am reblogging posts of Christmas past. This is from December 2015, combining two Tale Weaver prompts.

image via wild birds unlimited

Lintu loves her loom. She weaves the silken threads of milkweed pods into shimmering, luminescent cloth. With scissors made of starlight beams and comet dust, she carefully cuts the fabric into rectangles. Each rectangle, reflecting the skyclouds and seawaves, carefully sewn with a gossamer thread spun from the fluff of dandelion parachutes and bulrush tops. The draw strings were fashioned from elven wire, twisted with fairy filaments.

These are very special bags; ones that Lintu treasures making. You see, at fairy christmas time (around winter solstice {2015: December 22nd} – a moveable feast), people exchange gifts that are gifts.

Lintu fills each bag with sunflower seeds, millet, wheat seeds, safflower seeds, chopped nuts and dried fruits. With a sprinkle of pixie dust, each bag is off to a friend, a relative, a neighbour, a homeless elf, a chronically ill imp, and her friends on fairibook and impster and wordpixiepress.

To receive a bag, radiant on dingedulliest days, or starmoonlessest nights, is certainly a wonderous event. Lintu’s bags gracefully flutter down on doorsteps, or slip into mailboxes, or tippietoe up walkways.

Just before the shifting of time between unchristmas and christmas, contents of the bags are scattered as near to home as possible (window ledges, back mushroom decks, lily-pads, flower boxes, or between the summer and winter doors so as to be sent spinning out with each foot fall in and out).

On fairy christmas morn, birds fly in to receive their gift of seeds. They sing songs of thankfulness and promise to wear their best dress in the spring in return.

With a huge mug of fairy absolute chocolatiest, creamiest, dreamiest coca between her hands, Lintu watches the birds through tickle-your-nose-fragrant steam and the front window. Colorful dance of cardinals, blue jays, rhythmic sparrow movements, curious chickadees, flight paths of titmice.

As Grandmother taught Lintu to weave, she told stories. Stories her Grandmother sang while she was learning to spin.

“Remember, Lintu, traditions have a place. Some need changing, rearranging, leaving go. But many fade into dust and woodsmoke if no one remembers and shares.”

Her Grandmother loved to tell of the gift of birdseed at christmas time. Lintu had made it her own.

© Lorraine

Leaving food for the birds on Christmas morning is a northern European/Scandinavian tradition. One I haven’t followed of late. One I need to start again. (And I did)

Written for Tale Weaver 43: Christmas fairly tale and Tale Weaver 44: Traditions

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