The Offering

I. The Girl and the Ledge
Where granite ledges shoulder sky,
And Jack Pines twist their roots in stone,
I once wandered, small and shy,
But never quite alone.

I climbed where moss made runes of green,
Where blueberries clustered near the brink.
I heard the hush between unseen
And all the world that made me think.

Tiny orbs of twilight blue,
Grow low in bushes where no man knew—
Where the veil runs thin and wild winds turn,
These berries bloom where magics burn.

II. The Milk-Pale Bowl
A Fae friend said, “Leave sweet cream fresh,
And milk that’s thick with honey’s gleam.
Yet a fae might trick or curse your flesh
If you forget to share with it a dream.”

So each full moon, with careful hands,
I’d pack a basket, linen-tied,
With sweet dairy made from pasture lands
And courage that I could not hide.

Berries blush where faerie feet have danced,
Their juices spellbound, sweet and deep.
Blueberries, black as midnight’s trance,
I’d tell Jack Pine secrets that he might keep.

III. The Whispering Grove
In cairns of stone and hollowed hills,
Where granite teeth rise through the moor,
The Elves have thrones, ancient still—
And tell of power from the core.

Beyond the pines, where shadows spill
Like ink from sky to forest floor,
I heard the hush, the breathless still—
A silence just before…

The leaves of poplar twitched like sighs,
And Jack Pine bowed his crooked frame.
The wind was thick with unseen eyes,
And someone called my name.

IV. The Circle of Stone
I found it where the blueberries grew—
A ring of granite, cold and deep.
Each stone a throne the fae once knew,
Each silence vast as sleep.

I knelt and placed my gifts with care:
A bowl of cream, a croft of cheese,
and berries blue, so ripe and rare,
Still warm from sun and breeze.

Butter churned in moonlight’s hush,
Cream thick with the scent of dreams,
Milk left on moss with a honeyed brush
Summons the fae with silent wings.

V. The Fae Appear
The air grew still, the poplar sang,
The granite throbbed beneath my skin.
From pine and berry, moonlight rang—
And the fae slipped softly in.

They came on feet of mist and bark,
With frost and moss about their hair.
They spoke in hushes deep and dark—
And asked me why I’d dare.

“I do not come to steal or bind,”
I said, though breath was nearly gone.
“But feed my dreams the world leaves behnd—
For I am wild, unwise, the wan.

VII. The Pact and the Pine
“You watched me when I scraped my knees,
And warmed me heart when It was cold.
Now I bring milk, and fruit, and cheese—
And stories still untold.”

The fae were still, then one stepped near—
A Fae grown tall with bark for skin.
“You named me,” he said, “I call you dear.”
Let me bear the guilt you learned from kin”

He kissed then upon my brow,
And left a crown of pine and snow.
The ledges bloom with berries now—
Where only stone would grow.

VIII. The Crossing of the Three Hills
And every month beneath that tree,
A bowl I bring where moonlight spills—
Of cream and fruit and tales of mystery,
And love the wild still fills.

A Fae once told me “When the moon is thin,
Cross not just land, but fate and will—
Where wind bends low and dreams begin,
Climb the paths of the threefold hills.”

So I stepped from hearth with lantern low,
No road was marked, no guide to say—
Beyond the hedge, where wild things grow.
Just whispers drawn the fae-swept way.

IX. The Hill of Echoes
The wind became my mother’s tone,
The first hill rose in silver mist,
My father’s grief, mine own long-gone.
Where every footfall turned and hissed.

“Why did you leave?” the voices cried.
As I climbed through ache, through shame—
“Why seek the truth the world would hide?”
As it whispered back each sin by name.

I reached the crest with heart laid bare,
Looking back at the hill behind,
And found the wind had cleared the air.
Yet still I lacked sound of mind.

X. The Hill of Thorns
The second hill was wrapped in briar,
Each branch a memory, sharp and cruel—
With petals red and roots like fire.
Each thorn a choice I’d made in school.

I walked with care, stayed to the path.
My anger screamed, “Strike down the vine!”
As the thorns drew blood but not my wrath;
For silence said, “Endure. Refine.”

I thought to turn and go back down,
Yet when I passed the final snare,
Though I searched for what couldn’t be found,
The vines bowed back and let me there.

XI. The Hill of Stars
The final hill was bathed in white—
Its stones aglow with ancient light.
Above, the stars began to shift,
Each one a question, riddle, gift.

“What has no breath but shapes your fate?”
“What sings, but only while you wait?”
“What must you lose before you find?”
I answered, “Time. And faith. And mind.”

I crossed the hills, not girl, but wise—
With silver in my shadowed eyes.
For those who pass the hills of three
Are never quite who they used to be.

XII. The Veil

The stars aligned in hush and grace—
And opened wide the faerie place.