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The spirit of the moon appears to only those who dream, as she soars through the nights sky, conducting the tide. Her entourage of constellations never trail far behind.

“I am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the world conceives Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love.” — Sylvia Plath, Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices

from Etsy

Waterfall Nymph 8x10 inch fantasy art print

The source of the sweetest stream in the forest is this little nature spirit. Shes attended by two dryads so shell never be lonely--and trees know