Rossetti’s Harp Player

The harp is made to play laments, and her fingers pluck its strings mournfully in mellifluous torment. Notes spill like dawn birdsong from the instrument she clings, as if it were the first song the harp had learnt to sing. Her velvet gown is black as night, the harp of ebony made, but light shimmers […]

Hello Mr Magpie!

“Why ask the willow for a branch when my husband can saw one off for you?” asked the shopkeeper. “That’s not how it works,” replied Willa. She paid for her shopping, grabbed her basket, and left. Soon two magpies appeared in Willa’s garden, carved from driftwood she collected from a local beach and painted by hand. […]