For a couple of years, we’ve been writing Pagan fiction for the EarthTides Pagan Network’s newsletter. Our column is called Faerie Tidings. We’re now working on a book based on the characters in these stories.

Here’s a taste of Faerie Tidings, written for the Samhain (Fall) 2008 issue:

The wind tugs at our cloaks as we kneel to plant another bed of bulbs – this time red tulips and yellow crocuses. We have just finished with our biggest garden task: planting lots and lots of garlic! The day is overcast and it’s a bit chilly, but we feel sure the rain will hold off for our Samhain observances.

As we crouch down to dig more cool earth, we remember the hot cocoa we had this morning in our slippers and we look forward to the spicy squash soup that will soon be bubbling over the hearth-fire. The two black cats wander over idly, rubbing their tails against us and sniffing the dark loam. Soon, they murr their farewells as they meander off towards the compost pile, which is now full of layers of stalks from the garden and fallen leaves after our morning’s labors.

With satisfied sighs, we return all our tools to the barn, feed the donkey, and head inside for a hot bath. As we simmer merrily in the tub, the cauldron merrily simmers our soup. The scent of it wafts toward us, mingling with the smells of our lavender soap and sage incense. Wrapped in the warm aromas, our consciousness drifts in and out across the veils.

The shining strands of the web spread out infinitely, connecting all beings who are, have been and will be. An evocative resonance leads us back to our ancestors, and connects us forward to future generations. Interwoven are the ancient energies of the dreaming Green Man and the wise Crone, their melody guiding us through the intricate dance. We glimpse Autumn Faeries as they mischief their way through the brush; Elder Tree Spirits yawning and preparing for their winter slumber; and deer making their way daintily to the orchard where the fallen apples beckon.

Some time later, we wrap ourselves in fluffy bathrobes and fuzzy slippers, and complete the ensemble with bright purple aprons. It’s time to head to the kitchen and create our Samhain treats. Along the way, the popping and crackling of the fire reminds us to stir the soup. We clang the lid open and rolling steam envelops us. We give it a stir and a taste, adding a pinch of this and that to accent the savory squash.

In the kitchen, our cakes have cooled since mid-morning, and we cut them into tiny squares. Soon, a pot of dark dipping chocolate is melting on the stovetop. We gather the fillings for our petit-fours: almond paste, maple sugar, strawberry jam, apple butter, dried blueberries, lavender honey, and hot pepper jelly. The messy process of assembling them inspires many giggles and lots of finger-licking. By the time they’re ready, the pumpernickel dough has risen and is longing for the heat of the oven.

As the sun sinks lower in the sky, others begin to arrive. They bring offerings and their contributions to the feast: jars of pickles, pots of butter, a big bowl of beans and rice, and jugs of cold apple cider. The musicians are laden with drums and instruments snug in their cases. The food is packed into traveling baskets and our soup is carefully ladled into a plump pumpkin, its slimy orange innards hollowed out. The bread has cooled enough to add to the top of the traveling feast.

Amongst the mists of dusk, the group rustles its way slowly up the mountainside path towards the ancestors’ grove. Our voices raise in a lilting chant as we process toward our ritual. We can feel the cool whispers of the spirits, and the distant sound of a flute reminds us of our kin beyond the veil. We anticipate the ancestral feast that will soon be laid out among the stone cairns, and the satisfied sighs of those to whom we pay tribute. Tonight, we celebrate our departed kin with food and song.