Etwas the Elf

Etwas the Elf
Our heroine, photo by Maia Ycot

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

The elf and the lengthy artiste, part dos.

Once upon a time, Etwas the Elf was running through the forests of grass, under the canopies of clover and around the stems of tall flowers when she saw her cousin 'Cia looming in the distance.  Etwas decided to saddle up her butterfly, Rascal, and go play with her tall cousin.

"Bzzzzzzzz!" Etwas shouted as she flew in front of 'Cia's ear.  The tall fairy turned to swat and saw her cousin.  "Etwas," she said, "you won't trick me like that again."

"So where are we going?" Etwas wanted to know, and Rascal was getting kind of curious himself.

"I want to climb that tree," 'Cia explained pointing to a rugged pine growing from the side of a high tableland. Then she held up a parchment and a set of watercolor paints and a skin full of water.  "I want to climb up there and paint the air.  It's never been done!"

So, 'Cia spread her long limbs and fluttered her incandescent little wings, which, to tell you the truth, were to small to fly with and mainly cosmetic, really.  She climbed the moutainside with Etwas and rascal flying near her mouth and her ear.  The pair traded gossip about the doings among the hidden people until 'Cia, at last, reached the tree.

The long fairy caught the lowest branch and hoisted herself and finally, near the top, tied some branches together to make herself an artist's nest.  Etwas settled in 'Cia's hair and carved and folded pine nuts to make herself a crown so that she and Rascal would look like an orchid to eagles flying overhead.  And while she made her crown, 'Cia started to paint.

Just then, a storm that had been gathering broke loose. The tree swayed and the threesome bobbed and bounced and barely kept their foundation.  'Cia laughed and held on to the peak of the pine.  Etwas laughed and netted herself and her butterfly in 'Cia's long black hair.

The colors 'Cia was using, the dark greens that showed the healthy grasses breathing and the pale blues and grays that showed the sky lifting and falling bled together and smeared themselves until no thing had a boundary and every posed plant was part of every stone and each hill and stream were incorporated into the artist's sky.  Etwas had to admit, 'Cia had painted the air.

And ever since then, Etwas and 'Cia begin every landscape with a weather report.


  1. Creo que el aire pintado con un día de lluvia es un cuadro bonito.

  2. Yo lo creo, tambien y gracias.