THE SPRITE
Bridget Beth Collins is a woodland sprite who forages flowers, paints botanicals, and loves moths. She resides in Ravenna, Seattle with a bunch of dwarfs (her husband and three little boys) in a cottage with a round door. Follow her charming life at: bridgetbeth.com.
Yesterday Beau and I got into a fight. I was upset about something, he told me not to be, I told him he was being mean, he told me I shouldn’t tell him how to be, then I told him he started it…we were like a dog chasing its own tail. Miscommunication, lost in translation.…
Crumbled, wet earth slowly erupts with green magma. A tiny frond emerges from the dark earth. It blindly searches for light in a forest of low lying fog. It rises, up, up, up, but cannot find the slightest inclination there is anything waiting for it, so it begins to unfurl. I am afraid of the…
Mist curled around the edges of dark hills in the distance, lines and lines of vineyards flipped past like the pages in an old rolodex. I lay my head lazily to the glass of the bus window, satisfied with my choice: I had chosen to say yes to Adventure. To Unknown. To the call of…
During the summer before third grade a large manila envelope came in the mail with my name on it. Inside was a letter T on tag board paper, and instructions to decorate the T however I pleased, then bring it to class with me on the first day of school. I immediately got to work. …
Through sparkling shards of amethyst and translucent rose petals I remember. An A-frame cabin in the snow, woolen knee socks and a window covered in frost. An agate slice wrapped in tissue from my father. A brush of rouge on my cheeks from my mother after I’d eagerly watched her adorn her own face. Driving…
“Every shining pine needle, every humming insect. All are holy in the memory and experience of my people. We know the sap which courses through the trees as we know the blood that courses through our veins. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters.…
My family loves travel. If we’ve saved up a chunk of money the first thought is, “Where to next?” My sister Lucy spent a couple years on a tiny Honduran island teaching children. My mom spent teenage summers motorcycling and giving medieval castle tours in Europe, was a missionary in Laos, and was a bridesmaid…
A walk through my neighborhood: an essay and photo journal.I’ll be honest. I intimately know the flowers in my neighborhood, but hardly any faces. When I heard our word for this month was Neighbor I said, “Oh crap. All I know about neighbors is that good fences make good ones!” But as I began journaling…
By trade I am a forager of flowers. I scavenge, buy, and grow them so I can fashion them into designs. Sometimes I feel as though I breathe, sleep, and live amidst flowers. I have grown right along side them in a metaphysical garden of sorts, and I feel as though my budding days are…
Kindred 