"Magical Mystical Rain" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
The Mystical Rain of the Northwoods
It happens only once in a great while—perhaps a decade or so—when the autumn is on the cusp of winter, and the air holds its breath in the stillness of the Northwoods. The temperatures hover just on the edge of freezing, and then, as if summoned by something beyond time, the rain begins to fall.
But this is no ordinary rain.
Each drop, upon touching the earth, does not dissolve into the ground or trickle down the bark of trees. Instead, each drop crystallizes into a perfect, delicate globe—a shimmering sphere that holds within it something more than mere water. They cling to bare branches like tiny lanterns of frozen light, nestle into the needles of pine trees like nature’s own ornaments, and rest gently upon the wild red berries that still cling to the brush.
I was a youth when I first discovered the mysteries of the magical, mystical rain. Now, I am a man with more years behind me than ahead, yet each time I encounter this rare phenomenon, it brings with it a lesson—a lesson for me, and for all who take the time to stop and wonder.
The crystal globes are not like the fortune-telling orbs of old, yet they reveal something far greater than the future. Each one reflects the heart and soul of the person who gazes into it. No two are ever the same.
Some whisper the stories of memories long cherished, capturing echoes of childhood laughter, old loves, and friendships lost to time. Some shimmer with possibilities—the paths not yet walked, the dreams waiting to be pursued. Others tell stories of faith, hope, and love, offering quiet reassurance in the vast stillness of the forest. Some hold glimpses of the infinite, the grand mysteries of existence woven into their fragile beauty. Some reveal the very magic of the universe itself, the unseen forces that shape the world in ways we barely understand.
And then there are those that simply reflect the peace of the soul—the kind of peace that one finds only in moments of stillness, in the hush of the woods as the mystical rain falls, and in the knowledge that life, in all its fleeting wonder, is a gift.
Together, these crystal orbs form a treasure beyond price—a jewelry box of mystical and magical wonders, waiting for those who choose to see.
Perhaps, in another decade, the rain will come again, and I will stand beneath its silent miracle once more. And when I do, I will look into those crystal globes and find, yet again, the quiet truths they have always held.
~Wylddane
It happens only once in a great while—perhaps a decade or so—when the autumn is on the cusp of winter, and the air holds its breath in the stillness of the Northwoods. The temperatures hover just on the edge of freezing, and then, as if summoned by something beyond time, the rain begins to fall.
But this is no ordinary rain.
Each drop, upon touching the earth, does not dissolve into the ground or trickle down the bark of trees. Instead, each drop crystallizes into a perfect, delicate globe—a shimmering sphere that holds within it something more than mere water. They cling to bare branches like tiny lanterns of frozen light, nestle into the needles of pine trees like nature’s own ornaments, and rest gently upon the wild red berries that still cling to the brush.
I was a youth when I first discovered the mysteries of the magical, mystical rain. Now, I am a man with more years behind me than ahead, yet each time I encounter this rare phenomenon, it brings with it a lesson—a lesson for me, and for all who take the time to stop and wonder.
The crystal globes are not like the fortune-telling orbs of old, yet they reveal something far greater than the future. Each one reflects the heart and soul of the person who gazes into it. No two are ever the same.
Some whisper the stories of memories long cherished, capturing echoes of childhood laughter, old loves, and friendships lost to time. Some shimmer with possibilities—the paths not yet walked, the dreams waiting to be pursued. Others tell stories of faith, hope, and love, offering quiet reassurance in the vast stillness of the forest. Some hold glimpses of the infinite, the grand mysteries of existence woven into their fragile beauty. Some reveal the very magic of the universe itself, the unseen forces that shape the world in ways we barely understand.
And then there are those that simply reflect the peace of the soul—the kind of peace that one finds only in moments of stillness, in the hush of the woods as the mystical rain falls, and in the knowledge that life, in all its fleeting wonder, is a gift.
Together, these crystal orbs form a treasure beyond price—a jewelry box of mystical and magical wonders, waiting for those who choose to see.
Perhaps, in another decade, the rain will come again, and I will stand beneath its silent miracle once more. And when I do, I will look into those crystal globes and find, yet again, the quiet truths they have always held.
~Wylddane
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