Jelly 25 - Dispatches of Jelly's twenty-fifth year

HELPFUL HINT: Dispatches are not arranged in a strict monthly order. If this is how you wish to experience my world, start with the June dispatches (my birth month) and end with the May ones.

November - Wanderlore Grove - Creators Realm - Jelly 25 - Autumn Bee

Thank You Bumble Bees

I saw the bee in the early morning. It was still as the chill air. I thought perhaps it had died sometime during the hours of the cold night. I didn’t disturb it, though I did give it my thanks for all the work it had done during the summer.

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Green Space

Green Space

Sometimes society enters a phase where it seems that no one can see eye to eye. I believe that this occurs most often in societies where the mythos of the culture becomes a sacred text that cannot be deviated from. Those who want change are accused of sacrilege. Those who

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October - Wanderlore Grove - Creators Realm - Jelly 25

Prayer for Rain

After the Autumnal New Year, the Wanderlores do what they do best—they travel. There are several times of the year where this “traveling” takes place, usually during the change of seasons. These journeys are more intense than regular vacationing or site-seeing for they are based on ritual, and there are

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September - Wanderlore Grove - Creators Realm - Jelly 25

Dancing with Time

At the time of the Wanderlores New Year, I always like to share with those of you who are uninitiated a little about our ways. I know that getting to know the Wanderlores will help you understand not only me but the aesthetics of how I live my life in

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September - Wanderlore Grove - Creators Realm - Jelly 25 - Snail and Muse

Houses

It’s directly before the Wanderlores New Year and, as I’m known to do this time of year, I’ve just finished renovating the little wagon I call home—at least while I’m visiting the Wanderlore Groves, which is quite a lot during this season. The wagon is the traditional intricate affair on

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August - Creators Realm - Jelly 25

Both and Neither

I’ve written before about how we’re all born into other peoples’ stories. My own story is more complicated than most. Some of this complexity comes from the fact that my birth family chose to live a fiction for most of my life growing up in Cratersville. By the time I

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