Enter the Enchanted Forest,
A harmonious realm offering the healing you seek and the inspiration your mind craves before you drift across the space between your waking life and slumber.
In tonight's Witch's Cottage Sleep Story,
Magic of the Mighty Small,
Visit three beguiling sisters in their woodland home to celebrate their beloved fox.
Life can forge the most unique bonds,
And as you unwind you may explore the beauty of the most unconventional friendships.
You may remember that love comes in many delightful forms.
The cottage always waits for your return.
It is a sanctuary that enlivens your connection with your inner voice and nature's awe-inspiring beauty.
All cares evaporate in the presence of three vibrant maternal witches who always meet you with acceptance.
As the amber glow of the hearth fire settles over the room,
Snuggle up and revel in this charming escape.
It's time to dream away.
Welcome to Michelle's Sanctuary.
I'm Michelle and as you listen,
Know that I'm so grateful to be the voice that may help deliver you to a night of healing dreams.
Think of my voice as one of a kindred spirit,
Bringing the enduring support of a lifelong trusted friend.
The sacred time for rest is yours to do with whatever you like,
So feel free to change any detail of the story and surrender to the incoming tides of sleep whenever you wish.
Since so many of you have asked to learn more about our cherished fox,
Tonight's chapter in the Witches' Cottage comes from your requests.
Long ago,
While I was on an island envisioning the three witches,
I was accompanied by my long-haired chihuahua,
Jack.
It was a silent season when the world had paused,
And we would take these long,
Winding walks among the towering common reeds and bamboo,
Only occasionally crossing paths with another soul,
Enjoying the stillness.
Many times,
People would startle,
Mistaking my small pup for a wild fox.
And so he became the inspiration for the fox in our enchanted forest.
I imagined this fox as an intuitive being,
A guardian always watching over you and ensuring your safe arrival,
Just as a loyal furry friend always will.
Tonight,
We honor that bond.
Before we arrive at the cottage,
I invite you to settle in and connect with the magical power of your breath to clear the air and deepen your sense of peace.
Open your mouth and sigh,
Releasing anything that lingers from the day,
And then breathe in deeply,
Sensing a shift in the air,
The distant scents of the forest at night,
An evocative perfume of night-blooming flowers and evening dew.
Yawn if you like,
Then sigh again audibly,
Letting your voice be heard as an incantation for relaxing.
Continue this pattern of breathing,
Or simply take a few natural deep breaths,
However you like.
Everything is customizable as I count us down from the day.
Five.
Feel the world of judgment fall away as you envision the protective purple shadow of the enchanted forest.
The air shifts dramatically,
Holding you in its soothing vibrations.
Tune into the frequency of another realm,
One that truly knows and understands you.
Four.
The distant songs of fairies join the hollow whispers of the white birch trees swaying in the distance,
A silver rustling language that mimics the song of a long,
Slow exhale.
Three.
Like the eternal glow from the hearth of the witch's cottage,
You feel a wave of warmth that begins at the crown of your head and flows downward,
Melting every knot of tension until you feel light,
Centered,
And safe.
Two.
As you connect with all that supports you right now,
Imagine the three sisters in the cottage,
Leaving the magic of the evening specifically for you,
Creating a sanctuary where the smallest spirits are the most honored guests.
One.
With one final conscious breath,
You cross the threshold to the enchanting realm,
Your home away from home.
A celebration of the fox begins now.
On every journey to the enchanted forest,
In witch's cottage,
The red fox has patiently waited to greet you,
Softly stepping out onto the moonlit path to ensure your safe arrival at the cottage.
No matter how many visits you make,
No matter how the blueprint of this ethereal landscape becomes as familiar as the streets near your home.
He is there to ensure you feel welcome,
Safe,
And loved.
And even on this night of his celebration,
He is not a moment late.
His shiny red coat glistening in the pearly moonlight as the lady in the moon shines down upon the forest with reverence for the mighty small.
The fox leads you forward,
His tail a flickering copper torch against the velvety purples of the night.
Dewy honeysuckle takes on an otherworldly sheen,
The tiny drops like crystal balls that tell the secrets of the forest.
The petals impart an intoxicating perfume.
But as you follow the fox's confident stride,
As he playfully darts around trees and awakens your agility as you try to keep up,
The forest feels less like a mystery and more like a nocturnal playground.
Your boots land on the damp,
Yet solid earth,
And a sense of grounding,
Of the forest's permanence brings you the deepest sense of serenity and gratitude.
You follow the curve of the babbling stream,
Where the dark violet water gurgles with bioluminescence,
Casting a soft lavender glow on the mossy banks.
The glowworms slither out,
A cheering section of wondrous light that the fox seems to notice and enjoy.
He is one of the many small,
Mighty creatures in this realm,
And they all look to him with deep wonder and appreciation.
As you come upon the shimmering white birch trees,
The rising silver markers take on the neon hues of the fairies.
You see they are waiting in celebration of the fox's presence.
Their crystal voices cut through the cool,
Soothing air that feels like a balm as it kisses your skin and enters your lungs.
Every step you take deeper into the forest seems lighter and more buoyant,
As if you could join the fairies in flight as well.
You feel a sense of rare levity,
A bubbling of joy in your chest that awakens the pure magic of being alive.
The fox pauses beneath the serenade,
Digging in the night as the fairies form a circle overhead and dance around him.
He takes it all in,
Often one to retreat to the shadows or his den.
His usual stoic gaze is replaced by a mischievous glimmer in his dark eyes,
A sweet disposition that suggests he is in on the secret of the night's festivities.
You emerge from the birches into a clearing where the cottage stands.
The twisted log fence is draped in garlands of dried orange slices and cinnamon sticks,
And the herb garden is a lush tapestry of silver sage and lavender,
Lustrous and inviting in the moonlight.
The aromatic notes travel on the cool breeze,
And you can even see them in tiny sparkles as waves of fragrant air move toward you and the fox and wrap around you in a hug,
Pulling you in close.
The three sisters stand side by side,
Their cloaks forming around them like nocturnal antique bells,
Waiting by the gate with wide,
Welcoming smiles.
Cora,
The youngest witch of healing,
Steps forward first.
In her delicate hands,
She proudly clings to a garment made with exquisite craftsmanship that she spent all week preparing for tonight's celebration.
It's a small,
Regal robe,
Tailored perfectly for the fox.
It's made of deep forest green velvet with gold trim,
And as she drapes it over his shoulders,
He stands a little taller,
Accepting the honor with a wag of his plumed tail.
But then Eva approaches you,
Her eyes promising the same sense of inclusion the sisters have always made you feel.
She carries a much larger cloak for your shoulders.
A luxurious weight in midnight blue,
Its interior lined with silk that ripples in the same fiery red hues as the fox's fur.
As she wraps it around you,
You feel its comforting weight,
And an internal fire of belonging warms you from within.
The witches wear their own ceremonial robes,
Emerald,
Ruby,
And royal blue velvet.
That offer the same beautiful silk lining to honor the fox.
Along the wide lapels,
The likeness of the red fox is embroidered with shimmering copper thread.
You run your hand along your own lapel to discover the same beautiful design.
The fox nudges the heavy wooden door open,
And you are swept inside by a wave of golden warmth.
Tonight,
The cottage is an open heart to the forest,
Its mullioned windows flung wide into the night,
Inviting visits from the fairies,
And allowing the purifying air to circulate and mingle with the cozy warmth of the eternal fire.
Dozens of beeswax candles illuminate the juniper walls,
Their flames taking on a hue of scarlet orange.
Found in the fox's fur,
On the wall hangs sketches and paintings you've never seen before.
They are centuries old,
In places that keep time like your home.
You take in Carla and Ava's charcoal sketches of the distant,
Misty bog they once called home.
There is an oil painting of the rainy morning Carla found the fox.
Painted from the youngest sister Cora's memories and dreams.
Another painting shows their father standing by the twisted reeds of the old world,
Holding the young fox.
The fox climbs up on a velvet stool by the fire,
Basking in its warmth as Cora gathers him a special treat.
Ava gets a tray of chalices with rising,
Sparkling steam,
Passing them out to you and her sisters for a toast.
The fox peers toward the lady in the moon.
Tonight,
Carla begins,
Her voice as smooth and comforting as the silk of your cloak.
We will celebrate all that brought us here and tell the story of the mighty small.
This is the first time you get to hear the story of the three sisters and how they made their way to this cottage.
The clues have dappled each visit.
Their mysterious realm has always been easiest to access for you by a dream.
But for them,
It was a great transition that first occurred when they were merely young girls.
You become entranced with Carla's words,
Getting lost in the remembrance of how this cottage came to be.
Your eyes delightfully captivated by the flames in the hearth that become translucent.
Fiery red cinema screens where the past comes to life.
Long ago,
Centuries even in your realm,
The Three Witches were known as the Sisters of the Bog.
In this world of shifting mists and salty air,
They lived at the edge of the Great Bog.
They were the descendants of a long lineage,
Daughters and granddaughters of women who moved with the rhythm of the tide and the language of the changing seasons.
Their mother and grandmother had been beloved keepers of the village's health.
They were healers,
Often visited in secret for physical and spiritual ailments.
Their intentions were pure and their visions and understanding were innate.
They did not need books to understand the pulse of a living thing.
They possessed an ancient connection to the natural world,
A special gift that allowed them to intuitively translate the songs of the wild.
Their empathy was as well cherished as the soothing powers of their tinctures.
But when the Three Sisters came into their own,
The villagers developed a growing unspoken fear that revealed itself often throughout history and now arrived at the Bog.
One spring morning,
When the winter frost disappeared and the earth took on the rich,
Heady aroma of new beginnings,
Fourteen-year-old Carla ventured out into the Bog.
A thick silver fog was fading into clarity in the aftermath of a long,
Relentless,
Rainy night.
As she foraged among the damp moss and budding reeds,
Carla heard a faint shuffling beyond the tall grass.
The rhythm of the motion was frantic and peculiar.
Her instincts led her to explore,
And she encountered a tiny copper-colored form.
It was a baby fox,
Barely two weeks old.
Shivering and slick with rain,
He was the runt of the litter,
Left behind by a mother who knew he was too small to survive the harshness of the marsh and the cold,
Wet spring.
Without a second thought,
Carla gathered the fragile creature into her apron,
Holding him against the warmth of her heart.
When she returned home,
Her father was sitting by the fire,
The orange glow reflecting in his weary eyes.
He watched in silence as Carla was joined by her sisters and began to warm the small being's body.
They didn't just feed the fox,
They nurtured him with a maternal and intuitive grace that filled the room with more warmth than the flames.
Their father watched as they took turns,
Waking every two hours through the night,
Their small,
Skillful hands tending to the runt for feedings.
He saw then that his daughters had come into their own.
They were no longer children,
But practitioners of a deep white magic that went beyond tending to this baby fox.
As the seasons turned,
The fox became strong,
Transforming from an abandoned runt into a vibrant being with a sharp mind and a steady gaze.
His coat shimmering like a copper coin against the muted greens of the bog.
His growth coincided with a noticeable flourishing of the sisters' healing gifts,
And their father began to notice a change in the village.
It was subdued in whispers and shared glances,
And a palpable heavy settling of the air.
He saw that the people of the bog were comfortable in their old ways,
And they lacked room for the vibrant wild magic his daughters carried.
He understood that a gift that isn't understood can often be a burden to those who hold it.
He watched his daughters,
So full of light and life.
He knew they were much like birds in a cage,
And the bog was just too small to contain them anymore.
As the anniversary of the fox's rescue drew near,
The fox did something he had never done before.
Most nights he was a constant shadow at Carla's heels,
Or curled comfortably by the fire.
But on one particularly pristine night,
As the flower moon hung low over the bog,
He stood at the door and waited.
With a single,
Purposeful look back at the sisters,
He slipped into the silver mist and was gone.
That night,
The father fell into a deep,
Heavy slumber.
And in his sleep,
The fox came to him.
He didn't see the fox as the runt he had been,
But as a radiant guardian in an enchanted forest.
He saw his daughters thriving,
Safe,
Eternal,
And vibrant.
And it would be many years before he realized that each of his daughters had a similar dream about the enchanted forest that night.
When the father woke at dawn,
The fox was already back,
Sitting perfectly still by the cold hearth.
A single petal of a flower that didn't grow in the bog shimmered with dew,
Settled on his tail.
The father looked at the fox,
And then at his daughters as they stirred from sleep.
He didn't need to ask where the fox had gone.
He knew the world was changing,
And he knew his girls deserved the lightness he had seen in his dream,
Which still lingered throughout the day.
The fox wasn't running away from his home in the bog.
He was running toward a precious future in another realm.
And that realm belonged to these three sisters.
Just before midnight,
On the eve of the celebration of the fox's first year with them,
The sisters stood at the threshold of the woods with the fox at their side.
They looked at their father,
Knowing that the potential of their lives could never be fully realized in a world that feared the very magic that saved them.
They made a solemn promise that they would return to the bog to visit him.
To bring him the peace of the forest.
But there was a sacred trade.
To stay in the enchanted forest was to be eternal.
To return to the bog,
The realm of their birth,
Was a gift they gave their father.
And in those visits,
And only then,
Would the clock of the human world touch them with aging.
And in each visit,
They would grow into the bodies of women that reflected the wisdom they always had.
They would age alongside him for a few hours.
Sharing his mortality.
Until one day,
They would only meet him in their dreams.
But the fox,
He stayed in the forest.
Forever a guardian and keeper.
To him,
It was a small,
Albeit eternal,
Exchange.
For the chance at life that Carla gave him.
The living cinema of the flames softens back into low,
Pulsing embers.
You blink slowly,
Feeling the heavy,
Luxurious weight of your midnight blue cloak.
As you consider the beautiful bonds of the sisters and the fox.
The air from the open windows is cooler now.
Carrying the soothing scent of crushed eucalyptus.
And the earthy,
Sweet perfume of wild sage.
The most soothing essence of the sisters' garden.
Carla reaches out,
Her hand resting gently on the fox's small,
Velvet-clad shoulder.
The story of their journey.
Of the bog,
Their father,
And the leap into the eternal.
Lingers in the air,
And you begin to consider the strength and intuitive beauty of all living beings,
Large and small.
Carla whispers,
Her eyes returning to yours warmly,
Now that she's shared the sacred passage in their lives.
And so,
The small became mighty,
And the mighty became the keeper of us all.
Ava and Cora clap and rise,
Bringing chalices refreshed for celebration.
And a delightful surprise for the fox.
A chorus begins to drift through the open windows,
Inviting you all to look out into the night.
The fox pricks his ears,
His plumed tail giving a single,
Regal sweep.
He hops down from his velvet stool,
And jumps up to perch himself on the sill.
You and the sisters follow,
Your ceremonial robes dusting the old wooden floors.
The clearing has transformed,
And under the pearly light of the lady in the moon,
Dozens of small,
Shimmering forms have emerged from the purple shadows.
They are the fox's progeny,
Generations of the mighty small who now thrive here.
Their coats are a spectrum of copper,
Gold,
And iridescent silver.
They sit in a wide,
Respectful circle around the cottage,
Their eyes reflecting the neon glow of the fairies dancing above.
Their song is so unique,
As the voice of a fox is quite unforgettable,
As they celebrate their father,
The keeper of the forest.
You all step out into the night and join them,
Dancing and celebrating the safety and wonders of the forest.
This one small,
But mighty soul is responsible for all that came to be.
The sounds of the forest change,
And the creatures retreat into their dens and hollows.
The fox meets your gaze with an unwavering look of devotion and love,
And you feel so grateful to be part of the celebration of the fox as he slips into the dancing shadows of the night.
The sisters turn to you,
And Carla's expression is one of pure,
Maternal peace.
She places a hand on your arm and gestures toward the cottage.
The night has been honored,
She says softly,
And now the forest sings us to rest.
Arms locked with the sisters in a chain of lightness and levity,
The four of you return to the cottage,
And you make your way to your familiar,
Cozy alcove.
The linens are crisp,
And moonlight filters through the windows.
You change into fresh,
Sun-dried cotton bedclothes.
And prepare for a night of deep sleep.
But as you pull back the heavy quilt,
You discover you are not alone.
Curled at the very foot of the bed,
Coiled in a perfect circle,
Is the cat who claimed you many seasons ago,
Always waiting for your return.
As you settle into the mattress,
The cat stirs just enough to acknowledge your arrival,
Letting out a low,
Vibrating purr that welcomes you home.
The heavy blue cloak is replaced by the warmth of the quilt.
And as you sink into the pillows,
The dreaminess of this perfect evening settles in your thoughts.
Your eyes grow heavy and allow the gentle drift to take over from here,
Knowing you are always safe and protected in the witch's cottage,
And in this eternal realm,
Fighting enchantment,
Finding love,
Finding gratitude,
Finding the small mighty within you.
