To date, the project has raised $450.01 for Great Lakes Bengal Rescue. You can help us add to that amount! Be sure to check out the merchandise in our Zazzle Charity Shop, which features artwork by several of our contributors. All funds raised through shop sales directly benefit Great Lakes Bengal Rescue, and we're continually adding new items and designs to the store; keep checking back for updates. For more ways to contribute, visit the GLBR donations page.
They’d buried her. In the dead of the night In the depths of their souls. And never again spoke of her, Never again spoke another word. Except on that one night The darkest night That soulless night That Hooded, shrouded, silent, moonless night, where one by one they came, To stand upon her grave, And renew the ancient curse. The curse that held her still, Trapped deep within the binding soil.
It was Bobby who got the masks. His uncle was some big deal museum guy a
long time ago, and Bobby's basement was filled with all kinds of crazy
shit that they inherited when the uncle finally kicked it a few years
ago. Bobby wasn't sad about it or nothing -- he never really knew the
guy and now he had a basement filled with cool things in old boxes. It
was like winning the crazy old guy lottery, except you got stuff instead
I don't know where Brenda got the robes. She probably stole them from
her older sister, Donna. Donna was a lot older than Brenda and she'd
moved out last year, when she met a girl named Andrea and decided not to
like boys anymore and wear sandals and overalls instead, or at least
that's what Brenda's mother said when she had a little too much booze.
Donna left behind a whole closet of costumes and old clothes, from when
she was in the high school drama club, and Brenda was always bringing us
They gather each winter's solstice, a grim group in black plague masks and black hooded cloaks. They gather silently in dark, woodland clearings at midnight, though never the same one twice. Each bears a flask. One produces a goblet from his (her?) voluminous robes. Each pours a portion into the goblet; some more, some less, all pouring silently. Then each takes a turn drinking from the goblet. No one knows whether they drink to the dawn, or drink to prevent it. All I know is that the sun rose again this solstice.
Winter's Solstice: A Night Garden Cocktail
3 parts Blood Orange Italian Soda 2 parts Pomegranate Italian Soda 1 part Tonic Water 2 parts The Kraken Black Spiced Rum
They came from the woods Our judges Our jury They came from the shadows of the in between places They came, and they deemed us unfit They said we failed to notice too many things The sorrow on a strangers face The lost lonely heart of the cat across the street The pain of the forest, that was no more They said our failure could no longer be ignored And they judged us And they punished us They sent us to observe from the shadows of the woods, from the in between places They made us stay until we understood
And now it is our turn We have come from the shadows of woods . . .
"I was walking around a lake and found a doorway that looked long unused, and the steps up to it were disappearing back into the earth. Creepy things intrigue me . . . I think it speaks to Kyle’s photographs as it looks like the Nunbirds use it as their portal to this world, possibly to correct the ways of errant murders of crows. We don’t want another episode of The Birds, now, do we?
I used a Canon A620, and added effects using Picnik."
We rise at dusk for the dawn of the new force of being. The magnetic shift speeds our blood and draws at our wings. Echoes of beats and caws fill the forest. We no longer resist because there is no more fear, only connection, vibration and comprehension.
The pain burned for centuries but now the skin has peeled away revealing our true nature -- the soft strength of feathers.
THIS CHALLENGE IS NOW CLOSED. Many thanks to all who participated! Your humble project manager believes this is the highest amount of participation the Night Garden has had to date for a particular challenge. Most exciting was that we had several first-time contributors.
Great Lakes Bengal Rescue has informed the Night Garden that no contributions were made to them related to this challenge. Your humble project manager is new to said managing, and is contemplating that perhaps this aspect of the project was not encouraged properly.
Yet said manager is very pleased with the new pieces contributed and continues to believe that art for art's sake has value of its own. So, thanks again, to Kyle for sharing his image as inspiration, thanks to the folks who created something in response to Kyle's photograph, and thanks to everyone stopping by to read.
"I wrote this from the viewpoint of a Chief Engineer's talk to the new recruits on an airship. Since the airship is the crew's home, it seemed natural that its guardian spirit would be a gremlin. I don't assume the Chief Engineer, or any of the officers, are exclusively male, and I hope the reader doesn't either."
For most of you, this is your first trip on an airship. I don't care why you're here as long as you do your work. Everyone on the Arctic Tern has shoveled coal, even Cap'n Reese. No one wants to hear your bellyachin', especially me.
You! You there in the fancy pants! Get your ass away from the rail! If you lean out any further you'll fall and rip the membrane. Then we'll end up at least one day more in port, which will come out of your hide, if you survive the fall!