Join us at the campfire for tales from around the world, told by storytellers of all backgrounds and creeds. From the heros and heroines of old, let us relearn and rediscover the wisdom of our ancestors. Shhh..the story begins..
Nature was changeable when the world was still young. Surrounded as they were by mysteries, the human race saw evidence of transformation almost everywhere. For example, according to the Ancient Greeks, their Sunflower (a type of Marigold) had not always been tied to the soil. The blossom began life as water nymph named Clytie. One day, Clytie was cast out of the cool green depths of her ocean home and onto a sandy island shore. Entranced by the brightness, she rested there and followed with longing eyes the golden globe of the Sun as it rode high in the heavens. Then, suddenly, a change came upon her. Clytie's mermaid tail coiled downward into the soft sand and rooted her into place. Her silvery hair curled into petals about her face and from her fingers green leaves began to sprout. By the ninth day of watching the fascinating golden orb, Clytie had become the Sun's flower, whose blossom reflected the burnished disk and followed its course throughout each passing day.
To the ancient ones, the crimson Anemone was precious, and it was believed that its petals were made from the blood of the God of Growing Things. This legend began with Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love. She harbored a deep passion for Adonis, whose name meant simply "lord" and whose beauty surpassed that of all creatures. Adonis was called Ruler of the Things of the Earth. For some months, the pair were sweethearts. Adonis, however, became restless and, despite Aphrodite's warnings, went hunting in the wild one day and was gored by a boar. The Goddess of Love found him as he lay dying, the bright blood from his wounds staining the grass upon which he lay. Aphrodite wailed in her grief and, out of her love for him, turned the scarlet splashes into the most delicate of flowers. People came to call these blossoms "Anemones" or "Wind Flowers," because it was the wind opened the flower's petals...and it was also the wind which blew those petals away all too soon. There is, however, more to this ancient tale. It was said that Aphrodite begged the god, Zeus, to allow Adonis to return alive to her for part of each year. The plea was granted. Ever after, Greek women lamented the Autumn death of Adonis but rejoiced for him in the Spring, when the blossoming Anemones signified his return to life and renewal of the Earth's fertility.
According to Greek myth, the mother of spiders was Arachne, a Lydian maid so sure-handed and deft that no craftswoman could match her in the skill of spinning or weaving. Arachne, however, was an arrogant lass, declaring that not even the gods could emulate her skill...not even Athena, protector of all spinners and weavers. Although Athena was patroness of these arts and of peace, she was also the Goddess of War, and she lost no time in dealing with Arachne's self-importance. She challenged the Lydian maid to a contest of proficiency. In her offering for the contest, Arachne added impudence to arrogance. She wove a scene that depicted an awful creature...part man and part bull...pursuing a mortal woman. This, announced Arachne, represented the loves of the gods. Athena wove a scene of a mortal man strapped into a harness that supported wings made of feathers. Unfortunately, the man had clearly flown too close to the Sun, for the feathers were already aflame. This, stated Athena, portrayed an image of human arrogance. Then, Athena destroyed Arachne's work and, with a sharp command, Arachne herself. At the words of the goddess, the maid from Lydia shrank and blackened. Eight wispy legs sprouted from her body. Arachne spent the remainder of her brief life...as her descendants always would for evermore...spinning thread from her own stomach and shuttling back-and-forth across its sticky strands to weave herself a web.
In the days when galleys plied the waters of the Mediterranean, a curious calm would sometimes come over the ocean around the time of the Winter Solstice. The gales would cease their howling, and the Sun would break through the grey clouds. Soon, the surface of the sea would be still, shimmering gently like glass. These were the halcyon days and, during such days (so the sailors said) the Kingfisher made its nest on the deep. No storm would disturb the bird while it brooded over its young, for (according to the sailors) the Kingfisher was protected by the gods. The bird's immunity was gained as follows: On the coast of Thessaly, there once reigned a King named Ceyx, who took a bride named Halcyone. Though mortal, both Ceyx and Halcyone possessed divine powers. Ceyx was the son of the Morning Star, and Halcyone was the daughter of the God of the Winds. Halcyone, however, greatly feared the power of the deities and wept mournfully each time her husband left her to sail the seas. One night, a disturbing image of Ceyx appeared to Halcyone in a dream. Her husband was pale and empty-eyed with seaweed trailing from his fine beard. In the morning, Halcyone left her palace to wander by the shore, and there, she saw that the dream had been Ceyx's farewell to her for his body floated amid the waves. Distraught with grief, Halcyone flung herself into the waters, but the gods took pity upon her. Where Halcyone had been, a bright Kingfisher suddenly took wing and, in a moment, was joined by another. In this form, the gods had decreed that Ceyx would be permitted to live again with his devoted wife. That is why (so said the Greek sailors) that it was safe to voyage when Kingfishers nested. On those clear days, no cloud would obscure the bright Morning Star and no blast escape the Guardian of the Winds.
Prowling the Northern skies is the heavenly image of a Great Bear and her cub. Ancient stargazers were always very fond of relating how these two came to haunt the night: There was once a young huntress named Callisto. Callisto was loved by the god, Zeus, and she bore him a son. The child grew to be a fine, healthy lad and a skilled hunter in his own right, but the union between Callisto and Zeus was doomed to end in tragedy. The wife of Zeus...Hera, Queen of Heaven...was enraged by the liaison between her husband and the accomplished young huntress and decided to weave a spell of revenge. Where the lithe Callisto had run, there suddenly lumbered a great bear...heavy of haunch with matted fur and slavering jaws. In this form did Callisto find her son in the forest. She plodded toward him and he, naturally enough, moved to slay the mighty creature with his spear. But the pity of Zeus intervened. The powerful god turned his son into a second bear and flung the pair...mother and child...into the sky, to glitter forever as stars.
Novareinna welcomes all tale-travelers to Penumbra, her newly-established and beautiful site/sight of stories and poetry and design (some elements are still under construction).
