Who's the wanderer?
They call me by many names;
Meadow wanderer, seeker of quiet trails,
a soul adrift in the scent of dreams..
But if you ask what I do, let me say it this way:
I walk forgotten paths, by day and by starlit night...
With each step, as I follow the scent of flowers once touched by fae,
a forgotten song rises in the distant meadows.
Something old and quiet stirs beyond the misty hills.
Ancient olive trees and mighty oaks
whisper their stories through their leaves.
One part of me walks this world, the other drifts in dreams;
one hand reaching skyward, the other resting in the heart of the earth.
I'm a seeker of strange objects, and even stranger tales.
Sometimes a stone speaks, sometimes a bird.
Now and then, I tell their stories,
but more often, I simply listen —
Because I know: some tales cannot be rushed,
some doors open only with the wind.
From every wildflower I meet, I gather a secret.
As the seasons turn, they leave behind recipes and potions —
sometimes a riddle,
sometimes the feather of a jay.
I gather them all, and leave none behind.
And in my satchel?
What doesn’t it hold, really?
A map? That I don’t carry — let’s be clear on that. :)
But let’s begin with what is there:
a bar of lavender-scented soap, a handful of earth, a few twigs and an acorn...
sometimes an olive leaf, from last years.
And between the pages of my notebook:
dried daisies and faded leaves,
recipes half-remembered, riddles waiting to be solved.
Lavender, thyme, and rosemary scents drift from its folds.
At times, a butterfly wing rests in a tiny glass bottle,
perhaps guarding a forgotten spell.
Oak-memoried ink brews slowly in a small vial,
waiting at the tip of a jay-feather quill —
and nearly always, there's a half-spun tale, curling like a riddle,
on the edge of becoming a story.
Some I share, some I simply wait with —
for the whisper in leaves, in stones, in wind...
And if you’re truly curious about my name...?
If you listen closely, in the quiet heart of the forest,
a rushing spring will whisper it softly to you.
And this place?
It’s more than a shop...
It’s a resting place for the ones still seeking their path,
a stop for those who follow whispers instead of maps.
A single, steaming cup of tea,
and a tale murmured from the old days.
Perhaps it's where you'll find something
you never even knew you were searching for.
If your feet have brought you here,
perhaps the path knows more than you think.
Welcome, wanderer.
Sit a while. The fire is warm,
and a lost tale stirs in the kettle’s hum..