​Whimsy in Nature ​- Ali Lynch

Children ​- Rebecca Kempe

How does it feel to be a butterfly.
​Probably pretty bad actually.
You live your youth as a disgusting worm
Grow up
And get eaten by a
bird.
I wonder what it’s like to be a bird
Probably pretty bad
You grow up eating vomit
And as soon as you learn how to fly
You fall
And die.
How does it feel to be a truck
Yes a truck.
Indestructible but without willpower.
But a truck isnt very
Whimsical.

The shimmer, the sparkle, the glittery whirl,
The candy, the chocolate, the popsicle swirl,
The ecstasy, rhapsody, joyous delight,
The liberty, freedom, the feeling of flight.
The absorption, the vigor of being entranced,
The magic, the daydreamy feeling enhanced,
The colours as vivid, as bright as the sun,
The masterful story of hope being spun.

Whimscynicism​ ​- The Comma Cat

I think the world is better when you don’t think about what it would be if it weren’t, because when you give it a chance and you assume that maybe it just really is nice and sweet and WHIMSICAL then perhaps, just… mayhaps… you can enjoy all of what the world is offering; and why wouldn’t you want to if that would be better than always questioning, always spitting, and always assuming that to believe is to be duped, to smile is to be fooled, to enjoy is to be manipulated, that any semblance of being along for the ride means that you lost your chance to take off the straitjacket when you were the one who put it on in the first place because not all of us would rather harm than imagine.

Why do Trees Blow in the Wind? - Hailey Laliberte

Once upon a time, there lived three beautiful nymphs. Nymphs were noble creatures who were anchored by strong magical ties to their assigned place in field or forest, and were protectors of the earth. Every nymph except these three performed her duties without fail, fearful of angering the gods. They stayed close to their gardens and flowers to guard them from the outside world. But these nymphs threw both caution, and love, to the wind. They had all fallen in love with the spirit of the north wind, Aparctias, and devoted their entire life to pursuing him. They had cast their duties aside, leaving their gardens vulnerable. This angered Hera. On a windy afternoon, she looked down from Mount Olympus, watching with disgust as the three nymphs ran onward and onward. There were punishments for the disobedient, and these nymphs were the very definition of the word.
Hera decided to give them a chance to change their wandering ways. She disguised herself as an old woman and went down to talk to the nymphs. She stepped in front of them as they ran, and they had to stop suddenly to avoid her. “Aged one, why do you block our path?” the first one asked. “You must cease seeking the wind,” began Hera. “You are nymphs and you have a duty to protect your gardens.” “We cannot stop chasing our love,” answered the second. “Again, I warn you,” cautioned Hera, “you do not want to anger the gods.” “You understand nothing of love, stranger,” said the third. Hera had had enough of listening to these faithless creatures. She revealed her true form to them and they cowered in terror. “I warned you,” she cried. “Though you have abandoned your roots, I can always form new ones.” At her words, the nymphs began to twist and turn, their bodies contorting into unnatural positions. Their constantly running feet began to fuse to the warm earth, their agonized screams stolen as their mouths vanished. Their bones creaked and hair blew violently for a few seconds, and then stopped just as suddenly as their dreadful metamorphosis had started. Their transformation into trees was complete. Satisfied, Hera returned to Mount Olympus.
Occasionally, the North Wind would pass by the nymphs, unaware of their presence. They would try to call out to him, but could not speak. All they could do was move their branches, crying out silently for their beloved. To this day, they still pointlessly try to reach the wind, never stopping. Perhaps they will reach out for eternity.

Photographed by Moira Geraghty

​Wormhara ​- Tyler Champion

Rain was coming down, softly, but coming down all the same. In my calloused hands, a bucket, filled with mud, and about 30 earthworms, wriggling under the surface of my bucket of filth. I was out there to put them back where they belonged, as I’d found them struggling to cross the wormhara desert. The sidewalk. A garden, mine specifically, was a much better place for a worm, so that’s where they were going. On my way to do so, however, I was interrupted by the strangest of sounds. A voice, high and quiet as a mouse, from inside my flower bed.
“Hello?” The flower bed squeaked, and I replied “Hello!” voice booming.  From out of there, crawled a little woman with wings, no taller than my thumb. She told me she had fallen. In a way, she reminded me of my friends the worms. Trapped somewhere, in a world that wasn’t built for her, poor thing. When I asked her if I could help her, she told me it would be lovely if she could dry off somewhere.
So, naturally, I scooped her up, and carried her inside. I put the kettle on and we sat and spoke. We told stories, the tiny woman and I, we laughed. I told her about my husband’s job, and she listened thoughtfully. When I offered her tea she said no, but asked kindly if she could have some of what I was putting in mine. I poured some honey onto a spoon, and watched as the rain drops trickled down my windowsill. Having nothing else to say, she braided her hair. As I watched the droplets, they started coming slower, and slower, and once they’d stopped, she flew away. Leaving me with an half empty spoon of honey, and a warm cup of tea.
​I haven’t seen her since, but to this day, when it rains, I still bring the worms to my garden, and carefully, dutifully, I listen while I bring them home, for tiny voices in the flower bed.

Queens of the Forest ​- Ella Pegan

Untitled - Jenna Mihalchan

She dressed me in spring flowers,
in swirls of colour,
then laughed when I asked if we had too many.
Silly boy,
she whispered in my ear.
Forest Queens can never have too many flowers.
I sat as
still as stone
while she worked on my crown,
layering textures and
weaving together the stems,
building my legacy from
my roots to my buds.
I tried to explain to her that
I didn’t need a legacy,
nor a crown, but she wouldn’t have it.
She insisted on my elegance,
and I insisted on her happiness.

Floating like flakes of flowers in the air.
​Softly, slowly, swifting past strands of hair.
Partially pushing and pulling apart.
Desperately searching for a wise heart.

Little do they know what the fairies are.
Surprising, because they are never far.
Terribly, tiny, tendrils of bright light.
Shine and shimmer during days and at night.
The fairies see you every single day.
There are things about you that they could say.
They say nothing because it’s in your head.
You only see them when you’re in your bed.

Whimsy ​- Brooke Sullivan

There is a world filled with beauty and love. A world so bright it surpases the sun. A world filled with fairies, ones like me, with pastel and sparkles and one very tall tree.
​The tree of life is how we live, it is cute and fun and a wonderful gift. We care and love this wonderful tree, and in return it loves us, you see.
All of a sudden two worlds collide, one with happy and truth, one with darkness and lies. Creatures of darkness all over our land, I wonder, somehow, if this was all planned.
If the tree of life is to ever go out, our home is destroyed and us too, no doubt.

Goddess​ - Nada Fawwaz

Photographed by Tyler Scharf

o goddess, sent from the heavens above
​with skin of purest ivory and a heart of endless love
bestow upon me rays of your glimmering light
as sunkissed petals rain around and guide you along your path from the sky
goddess, you pull the rain from the clouds and aid the golden flowers in growth.
o goddess, made from the stars in the sky
with hair of flowing rivers and enchanting stormy eyes
walk with me along the shore of restless oceans
watch as the clouds bow down under your ever softening gaze
goddess, your soul is one of harmony and endless midnight bliss.
o goddess, who belongs with the galaxies and novas
with lips stained with the soft gold of ambrosia
fade into the sunset with my hand in yours
watch how your brightness transcends that of a thousand pearls
goddess, for you, an angel would make a crown from the brightest lights in the sky.
a smile more pure than the softest of winds
a spirit that erases all misery and sin
not the rarest of fruits, nor the most inimitable of wines
can match a goddess so alluring, marvelous and divine.

The Life Cycle of a Caterpillar -
​Tyler Scharf

An exotic web laced with silver,
Made for catching small caterpillars.
A caterpillar makes a circle,
And has her babies, they are purple;
One turns into a lovely Monarch,
The others turn brown and hide on bark.
There is another, he is orange,
He sneaks in houses and eats porridge.
Here he goes, it’s that time of the month,
To sneak away for his porridge hunt.

Untitled - Moira Geraghty

There once was a boy made of lime
Who turned sideways and backwards the time
He’d sit on the ceiling and weep out his feelings
And poison all those on the ground.
“It’s not fair to us,” he would cry
So I’d reach to wipe tears, or I’d try.
“The world isn’t fair, but you musn’t despair-”
But his sobbing would stifle the sound.
Teapots, and kettles afloat,
Overflowing, creating a moat.
And out here in the deep, the toxicity steeps,
It corrodes away at your skin.
You’ve been worn down to only your frame.
You can leave, but you won’t be the same.
What’s been painted has passed, no illusion will last,
Poor girl, why did you let him in?

​

​Rudy Goes to the Zoo ​- Sophia Chu

Rudy loved animals. His favourite shows were about animals, he had hundreds of books about animals and his room was covered in pictures of animals.
One day, as a special treat, Rudy’s grandfather took him to the zoo. Rudy was so excited to see the bears with their huge jaws and claws, the pandas with their cute, fuzzy fur, and the leopards prowling with their sleek, spotted patterns.
First, they went to see the bears. Rudy pressed his face against the glass. There they were! But they weren’t what Rudy thought they’d be at all. Rudy couldn’t see any claws, and the only time the bear opened his jaw was to yawn. Rudy was disappointed.  
Next, they went to see the pandas. Again, he pressed his face up to the glass. He saw two pandas, but they weren’t as cute as Rudy thought they would be, in fact their fur was more brown than white. Rudy was very disappointed.
Then, they went to see the leopards. Rudy didn’t want to be disappointed again. He looked all around, hoping that maybe the leopard would be just as he expected, all spots and grace. At last he saw a spotted tail poking out from the bush. Rudy wanted to see more. So he waited. He waited for a long, long time. But Rudy saw nothing more than a tail. Rudy was completely disappointed.
“Let’s go home,” said Rudy sadly.
“Let me show you something first,” said his grandfather.
Rudy’s grandfather led him to a white dome. Rudy had to walk through two doorways with plastic curtains before entering. Inside, a wooden path curved between tall trees and metal pans of fruit.
As Rudy looked around, a butterfly landed on his arm. The outside of its wings were dull and brown, but when the wings fluttered open they flashed an incredible shiny blue. Rudy laughed. It was so cool!
As Rudy walked down the path, he was amazed by all the different butterflies. There were green ones, red ones, tiny butterflies and butterflies the size of his face! Rudy’s favourite was a butterfly whose wings he could see right through- just like a window. On one of the metal pans, a whole bunch of butterflies were piled on top of eachother. Rudy watched as their long black tongues came out in spirals and became straws for sipping on the fruit. As he reached the end of the boardwalk, three little black butterflies flew right in front of his face, their stripes of red and white flashing, as if to say goodbye.
That day Rudy learned that it’s often the unexpected things that bring the greatest delight.

​Photographed by Moira Geraghty

The Fool ​- Gene Case

What delight it is to be a fool.
We are not common but conspicuous, and if you know one I am sure you are aware of it. They--we--are easy to spot, dawdling in the street. Ours is a blithe existence, at once gluttonous and unassuming--we want the world and claim not an inch.
    I find my days in stardust; my nights by blooming rose. My sight askew I wander, and take pleasure in ignorance, for I cannot see to read road signs and never know my destination.
    Night by night it is green trails and meadows. I stumble half drunk and half dreaming, and then I find a place to sleep. It is a wheat field or a cherry tree; it is home to some whole world. I always hear a mockingbird. Sometimes it is only that tune I can’t forget--and then I tell myself a fairy tale that I do not remember correctly. No matter what it is a lullaby.
Past noon I wake from my gentle bed, swaddled in petals or pale reeds, like all the day’s my handmaiden. For these moments I am fragmented. I might be prince or pauper; I might not be a fool. Then I eat my jar of jam. Strawberry jam for breakfast is just as it sounds: my mouth swarms with sugar and an overripe honeybee kind of feeling, and my fingers are sticky. I lick them off and wrap the jar in a handkerchief again.
    So it goes. In the distance I see a poor milkmaid or unwitting farmer--on rare occasions I happen upon a royal hunting party, and then I am so delighted I can imagine wings sprouting from my back. Sometimes, I come to a city. Wherever I go I wreak happy havoc, and it can be more happy or more havoc but it is always change, rash and thrilling and insufferably foolish. Summer always goes with me. The days are bright and clear except when it rains, but isn’t that obvious?
    This is how I live. I meander; I have no destination; I am but a fool without a future. Yet I always continue, enthralled at the mere whimsy of the wind.

I Found A Key ​- Nate Fahmi

A Thousand Years Left Forgotten ​- Alecia Winchester

​Undertone ​- Mikaela Lewis

I found a key,
that unlocks a world of wonder.
It transports you to far off lands,
Where it will take you,
It’s out of my hands.
Perhaps to a place with skyscraper trees,
Or fields with grass growing up to your knees.
Where zebras  have zig-zags
Instead of straight lines,
Where people walk backwards,
All of the time.
Perhaps it’s a world,
In which we’re together,
Where the sun shines all the time,
With no rainy weather.
Maybe it’s a world,
Where daydreams come true,
Perhaps it’s a world,
Where I’m with you.

​​
​Photographed by
​Tyler Scharf

​In the warmth of the light
Swing me back and forth
Until the petals around me
Can't touch the ground any longer
And the winds will dance
Around my fragile face
And delicate fingers
Hold the rope daintily

What a wonderful way to stop
With hair whistling in the breeze
And the grass cheering me on
To leap into their arms
Where the sun is strong
And my bones will break
But only after being worn down
For months

What a wonderful way to stop

​Amber sunsets give way to pitch
Black nights. Only to come again as the sky turns
Crimson, illuminated by the
Daffodil sun. That shines down on the
Emerald grass, which sprouts
Fern green ivy, climbing it’s way up trees. Their leaves painted
Gold in the afternoon sun, that sits in a
Han blue sky, that slowly fades to Indigo. Turning the foliage
Jade, the once
Khaki bark fading to a dull chocolate. The
Lavender flowers turning
Mauve in the
Navy blue of the night sky. It fades to
Ocean blue, as sun rise brings shades of
Pink. As light as
Quartz, as dark as
Raspberry, usher in the morning of
Sky blue. Reflecting lakes of
Turquoise, the shadows forming images of
Ultramarine, mixing with deep shades of
Violet. Fluffy
White clouds drift by above the
Xandu, of the foliage which melts into forest green as the bright
Yellow sun, sinks low on the horizon bringing a
Zaffre twilight.

Summer Solstice Incantations - Liam Jones

Star Dancer - Braelyn Cheer

Scarlet moon on the longest day of summer,
Incantations on the scarlet summer solstice
Bloody nose bleeds and new t-shirts, scabs on your forearm from your red bike
Strawberry hair
Raspberry lip gloss
Orange, yellow, scarlet of the sunset
Campfires, turn to embers
Long fiery finger reaching out for us
Embers, turn to ashes
You laugh so hard your face starts to burn
You bit your tongue and your smile reddens
It tastes like cherry-fizz soda

​Photographed by Mikaela Lewis

Far above Earth, blazing so bright
Celestial forms illuminate the night
The brilliant glow beams down from space
Tenderly kissing a girl’s tear-stained face

Their beautiful radiance shines through the dark,
Their pulsing hearts calling out: Hark!
Come to us, leave your world behind
Dance with us, our souls entwined

Hush now, child. Wipe away your tears,
We will protect you, have no fear
We’ll keep you warm and safe from sight
Come, play with us to your heart’s delight!
And so the girl dances, her feet leave the ground
Enveloped in peace, the only sound
The whisper of fabric, as her skirts swirl
She leaps  and soars twists and twirls

This is freedom, brought to life!
No more grief and no more strife
She’ll leave behind her hurts and  scars
She’ll dance forever among the stars

​

Thanks so much for reading! We hope you enjoyed! 
​
Love,
​the Whimsy Spotlight Team 
​
​:)