People, Adult, Woman, Cinderella

To be a Prince Charming requires no real nobility, merely a strong jaw and cleft chin. A suitable castle or palace is a must, to hold a few balls within. Some flashy clothes and a servant or two, to pass out invitations and decrees. With all that in place, it won’t take too long, till peasant girls will go weak at the knees. Being Prince Charming is easy you see, as it is a position of birth right plain. Just beware of those Disney guys, as their constant presence is often a pain.


Tale Weaver/Fairy Tale – #311 – How To Be A Prince Charming


Fae, Fairy, Fairytales, Magic, Fantasy, Elf, Woman

As far as fairies go, Thistle was difficult to get on with. There was no doubt that she lived up to her name, as she had a truly prickly disposition. Before you begin to go on about hedgehogs being prickly and yet sweet, Thistle was no hedgehog. She was in fact a rather ill-tempered Brownie.

Most things seemed to displease, Thistle. There was no dancing under the moon for her. She far preferred to drag branches across forest paths and then sit back to see who might stumble over them in the night. Yes, for our dark-mooded Brownie, that was a thing of pleasure.

But while Mother Nature is tolerant of the actions of the Wee Folk, she does have her limits. So in the fulness of time there came some payback. Our prickly malefactor awoke one morning to find that the tables were turned. It seems that the while she had laughed heartily at the merchant she had tripped up the evening before, she hadn’t realised that her little trick had been accomplished with a bough of poison oak.

Spotty, itchy Thistle got her just desserts. Well they do say what goes around, comes around.


Tale Weaver/Fairy Tale – Fairies

Humble Destiny

Iga Palacz at Unsplash

A cobbled lane weaves through the town

And for those that know the way

Their fortunes can along it be made

As they discover destiny

It may seem to you a humble street

Past daub and wattle houses quaint

But there are those there you might meet

With opportunities for you to aquaint

Jack did here meet a man

As his cow to market he led

A few beans he did recieve

Worth great riches, so he said

The rest of the story is well known

Riches he did recieve

So don’t be fooled by humble looks

For their simplicity can deceive

Take your chances

Tread cobbled lanes

Seek your destiny

And you too might

Come to fame

If only you believe




brown and white house near green plants during daytime
Ella de Kross at Unsplash

Place of fantasy and bygone charm

Place where evil witches try to do harm

Place where charming princes make their way

Place where love’s true kiss can save the day

Place where with childhood wonder you can acquaint

Place of storybook endings happily ever after and quaint





Pond, Banks, Vegetation, Tree, Reflection, Landscape

Image by Mabel Amber from Pixabay

Gibberish had been a happy little Water Sprite.  She was said to have had the sweetest disposition, and the most beautiful smile in all Fairydom.  Yes she was happy indeed. Happy until that travelling peddler came along that is.

That man (and Gibberish still shutters at the thought of him), that man had the nerve – no – the audacity to ride his pack mule through (not around mind you) Gibberish’s little pond.  He showed no consideration for the little newts and salamanders that lived there, nor for the happy little Water Sprite herself.

In the peddler’s blatant disregard for the pond folk, he allowed his beast to trod on the unsuspecting Gibberish.  This callous act knocked out the Fairy’s front teeth, not only forever ruining her famed smile, but leaving her with a lisp.  And as if that was not bad enough, the other Fairy-folk began to tease poor Gibberish for the speech impediment that was the result of the indecent.

Gibberish has become a very unpleasant little Fairy.  So unpleasant in fact – that she has now enchanted her pond – so that any human who drinks from her waters will begin to speak in an unintelligible way.   That is why confused speech is called Gibberish to this very day.




had the Tale Weaver – #288 – Fairy Tale – The Unpleasant Fairy

The Bargain



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Jack’s widowed mother had been sent him into the town to sell the family cow.  It was hoped that the money raised by the sale of the beloved creature would be enough to tide the family over, through the long winter.

As Jack entered the market, a fruit vendor began calling out.

“Roll up.  Roll up.  We is comin’ to the end of the day, and this fruit ain’t goin’ to be eat’n itself.  Nanners, Nanners, two bunches for a pound.”

The appeal of the idea of fresh fruit became too much for the half starved boy, so he headed directly to the vendor’s stall.

“I don’t have any cash for the bananas, but I have a cow,” he announced.

The shrewd merchant looked the beast over and said, “I’ll give ya eight bunches for er.”

Jack shook the man’s hand, and handed him the lead.

The wily vendor, then took sixteen bananas and separated them into pairs.

“Eight bunches,” he announced, wrapping them in old newspaper.

The dejected lad trudged home with his purchase and laid them on the kitchen table.

“Bananas!” his mother roared.  “I was expecting beans!”


(190 words)





Once Upon A Time In The Greenwood


“It has been really quiet in the wood of late,” Thorafax the Gnome commented to Adriel the Sprite.

“I saw a dog-walker yesterday,” the Sprite replied.  “It was Brooster, so it had to have been Henry behind the mask with him.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Thorafax said.

“What are you two jawing about,” a sullen looking Gnome interrupted.

“Oh,  Hi Androw.  Just discussing how quiet the wood is,” Thorafax replied.

“Does my heart good, it does,” Androw said.  “Even the blasted noise from the roadway has largely gone.  Good riddance, I say.”

Androw had never quite gotten over having the hollow log which surrounded his home being used a seat for some all-night teenage partiers a few years before.  If their racket wasn’t bad enough, the rubbish – bottles and such – that they stuffed into the log had him trapped for hours.  He had eventually dug himself out, but never much cared for Human-folk ever since.

“Well, I kind of miss them,” Adriel said.”

“You Sprites don’t know a thing,” the grump of a Gnome said.  “Your homes are on boughs where they can’t upset them.  No, what would you do if they come by and picked ALL the flowers?  And they will someday, mind.”

“I’d think you were scaremongering again,” The Sprite replied. “Humans aren’t that bad.”

“You daisy-hearts are all alike.  I think we should build a wall or something while they are away.  That would keep the wood safe!” Androw said firmly, then turned and stomped off to his log.


Tale Weaver – #271 – Fairy Tale – What The Fairies Think: Write a story/fairytale in which you explore how they are reacting/coping with their human ‘friends’ being home all the time.



Cubes, Three, Objects, Red, Orange, Green, Shapes


Once upon a time there were three squares: Pappa Square, Momma Square, and Baby Square.  As they settled down for breakfast they found that their porridge was too hot.  So, they decided to go for a tumble through the wood, after all squares don’t roll too well.

While they were away, a little circle named RollyLocks came rolling through the forest, and as the squares’ house was in her path, she rolled right through it.

She rolled over Pappa’s chair.  She rolled over Momma’s chair.  She even rolled over Baby’s little chair, breaking it to bits.

Not being one for porridge, she then rolled right through their breakfast spilling it all, and not eating a drop.

She then rolled into the bedroom.  She rolled over Pappa’s bed.  She rolled over Momma’s bed.  She at last rolled onto Baby’s bed, but had no energy to roll any further.

After a while, the squares returned home to find an awful mess.

“Someone has rolled over my chair,” said Poppa.

“And someone has rolled over mine as well,” observed Momma.

“Well, someone has rolled over my little chair,” said Baby, “and the have rolled it into tiny bits.”

“Look they have rolled through my porridge,” said Poppa.

“They have rolled through mine as well,” said Momma.

They rolled through mine too,” said Baby, “and spilled it everywhere.”

The squares followed the porridge tracks into the bedroom.

“Someone has rolled right over my bed,” observed Poppa.

“Mine has been rolled over as well,” said Momma.

“Mine has been rolled onto as well,” said Baby, “and they’re still there.”

The startled squares tried to rouse RollyLocks, but she could not be shifted, having run out of energy and coming to a state of inertial rest.  Which just goes to show that you should never pass up a square meal.





The Mound

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Sally’s parents had told her that the little mound at the bottom of the garden had been an old shed which had collapsed through time and neglect.  Yet, if that were the case, why had it sprouted flowers and grass without a single bit of human effort, or the addition of top soil?  Yes, Mum had had the birdbath put on top of it, but only after the flowers has appeared.  Before that, she had asked Uncle Steve to cart away the rubble so she could put a gazebo there.  But those flowers – there was just something about them that made the place seem – well – special.

It was on a late July afternoon that it happened.  Sally had been sitting at the picnic table in the centre of the garden when she spied some movement on the mound out of the corner of her eye.  She took a quick glance, expecting to see a robin or sparrow at the bath, but there was only a butterfly flitting near the little border of the mound.  Dismissing it she went back to her sudoku puzzle book.  But then there was something in her peripheral vision again.  This time she kept her puzzle book in front of her and just barely tilted her head to get a better view.  There standing at the rim of the birdbath was a little man, no more than three inches tall, lowering a tiny bucket into the bath.  When it was filled he slowly lowered it to two little women waiting at the base of the bath.

Sally let out an excited squeal and as quickly as they had seemed to have appeared – they were gone.



Tale Weaver #248 – At the Bottom of the Garden – 7th November

The Rescue

Montana, Landscape, Scenic, Mountains


Charman Prinz had a lot to live up to.  It all grew out of a boast when he was fifteen, that the fairy tale writers had gotten it wrong, and that he was the descendant of the true hero of so many stories, and bore the proud name.

It was because of this that he knew he could not afford to dither.  He had a reputation to uphold, yet his mother’s incessant mithering was making him do just that.  You see, word had arrived that a local farm girl, hardly a princess, had been locked in a tower by her uncle, in the hope of forcing his older brother into surrendering his claim on the family inheritance.  While the sum was not massive, the promise of a reward for rescuing the girl seemed a great prospect for the penniless Charman.

His mother’s litany of self-pitying complaints now complete, Charman headed into the woods to retrieve the well worn sword he had traded for at the fair the year before.  It was securely hidden in the withered oak on the far side of the wood.  He was quite certain he remembered its position, but when he arrived he was forced to scour the area, as their seems to have been a blight in the forest and there was now over fifty withered oaks.

He now knew his chances of being the hero, and the recipient of the reward was diminishing.  Surely some other brave lad would beat him to the rescue.

It was late afternoon when he finally found his sword and equipment bag.  It was in good condition, and he ran as fast as could to the evil uncle’s farmstead.  He stopped on a low hill which overlooked the property and scoped out the situation.  He discovered that he had been right about being beaten to the farm.  He could clearly make out the figure of Thomas Dashing attempting to pry open the lock on the converted grain silo which was serving as the maiden’s prison.

Charman had to think quickly.  He then saw his chance.  There was a hedgerow nearby which was covered with flowers.  Charman slowly crept to the far side of the silo and cowered in the shadows.   Then, putting on his most feminine falsetto voice called out, “Don’t you dare come in here without a bouquet.”

Thomas stopped messing with the lock and looked around confused.

Charman again called out, “Don’t come into this tower unless you bring me flowers.”

Thomas noticing the hedge sprinted off to collect a bundle of bloom.

As he did, Charman rose and drawing a rope from his equipment bag, heaved it onto a jutting drain and slithered up the cable and scrambled into the high window.

“Come with me,” he said to the frightened girl.  “I have come to rescue you.”

“What about my flower?” she said coyly.

At that Charman pulled a silk bouquet from his equipment bag.  Well a true hero always needs to be prepared.




Bonus Wordle “Rhymes”

Mither (make a fuss, moan)