Day 5 – the forest sprite

There’s been a rustling in the leaves these last few nights – not the usual scurry of chipmunks or whisper of wind through the birch. Something else. A shape that doesn’t quite belong, but also doesn’t seem out of place in the way a dream isn’t out of place while you’re dreaming it.
Last night, under the round glow of a patient moon, I saw it: the forest sprite. All shag and shadow, glowing eyes like twin candle-flames tucked in a haystack. Standing among the trees as if it had been there longer than the forest itself, waiting for someone to notice. The kind of thing you glimpse just once before you start to question if you truly did.

It didn’t move toward me, didn’t need to. The air between us was enough – that hum of old stories and mossy secrets that live in the blue hours. A few leaves swirled at its feet, reds and golds catching moonlight like tiny lanterns, and then the woods settled again. Quiet. Watching.

If you ever find yourself walking alone beneath tall trunks and moonlight, and you hear a sound that feels more like a memory than a noise – pause. The forest sprite might be near, minding the forest, or maybe just curious about who still looks up to see.

(Autumn tip: bring an apple to leave by a stump. Old spirits appreciate the gesture.)

#mabsdrawlloweenclub2025 #doodle #digitalmarkers #mdc25d5 #MabsDrawlloweenClub #forestsprite

The child’s room holds the hush of night like a jar cupping fireflies. Curtains drawn, clock tick steady, the small figure beneath quilts drifts toward sleep. Yet, each night lately, the air glows just so. Not a streetlamp’s trespass, not a passing car, but a presence – pale and luminous, shaping itself in the quiet. A figure, delicate as candle smoke, standing near the foot of the bed.

The child whispers to it sometimes, half-dreaming, half-brave. The voice trembles, but the figure only shimmers in reply, as if its language is light and hush. No rattle of chains, no cold grasp, just the calm insistence of being seen. Like a nightlight that chose to walk out of the wall.

Parents hear nothing, see nothing, only the child’s insistence of company. Yet the house feels different lately. As though the walls lean in a little closer, the floors sigh more often.

Is it memory shaped into glow? A loved one from the other side who comes to soothe? Or something stranger, visiting the thin place between dream and dawn?

The child sleeps again, haunted, but comforted. The luminous guest lingers, fading with the first gray of morning.

#doodle #digitalmarkers
#mabsdrawlloweenclub2025 #haunting
#mdwc25d4
#mabsdrawlloweenclub

Day 3 of #MabsDrawlloweenClub, the word is Witch.

Lore remembers witches as bridges – one foot steady on the earth, the other stepping into the unseen. They brewed teas for the feverish, knotted threads to guard travelers, whispered to seeds so crops would grow strong. Their owls weren’t just companions but guides, watching through shadow and veil while the witch read what their keen eyes revealed. Together, they walked paths most of us only glimpse in dreams.

The broom swept more than dust – it cleared thresholds, brushing out old fears so luck had a place to enter. The tall pointed hat gathered ideas like rain, marking the wearer as someone willing to look up and beyond. And those cloaks, stitched from midnight – reminders that mystery can be worn as easily as comfort, not something to dread.

I like the lore that softens the edges – witches not villains, but clever neighbors. Keepers of remedies and riddles, the sort who carry wisdom in their pockets and smile knowingly when the world tries to fit them into smaller stories.

Tonight it feels especially close – the window cracked, cool October air drifting in. A half-finished cup of tea on the desk. Owls are calling from the treeline, their back-and-forth sounding like an old conversation I’ve just stepped into. Easy to imagine a witch passing overhead, owl at her wing, making her night rounds. The sketch catches that moment like a quick Polaroid, a hint of what’s already out there if you look at the right time.

#MabsDrawlloweenClub #witch
drawlloween #mabsdrawlloweenclub #witch #owl #roanokeva

#drawlloween2025 #mdc25d3 #doodle #digitalmarkers

Today’s topic is my little striped familiar, padding the halls like a detective on assignment. Nose to the floor, tail aloft like a flag, she inspects each corner and doorway as though the secrets of the universe might be tucked behind the shoes or under the sofa. Chirps, mews, and soft trills punctuate her patrol – commentary offered as if I were her assistant rather than her audience. She has opinions about dust bunnies, it seems, and about the birds outside that dare to sing louder than she does.

Later, the tireless inspector curled herself into a puddle of fur on her back, belly to the ceiling, paws slack and whiskers twitching in dream-work. A low, steady purr rolled out of her like distant thunder. Every so often, she’d give a sigh that sounded like a page turning, completely surrendered to her nap. A creature of extremes: the restless explorer and the blissful sleeper, living both roles fully, without hesitation.

The house feels more alive with her in it – every echo chased, every corner warmed by fur and sound. She’s a reminder to be curious when awake, and utterly comfortable when it’s time to rest. #catlife #familiar #purringmagic 🐾Today’s topic is my little striped familiar, padding the halls like a detective on assignment. Nose to the floor, tail aloft like a flag, she inspects each corner and doorway as though the secrets of the universe might be tucked behind the shoes or under the sofa. Chirps, mews, and soft trills punctuate her patrol – commentary offered as if I were her assistant rather than her audience. She has opinions about dust bunnies, it seems, and about the birds outside that dare to sing louder than she does.

Later, the tireless inspector curled herself into a puddle of fur on her back, belly to the ceiling, paws slack and whiskers twitching in dream-work. A low, steady purr rolled out of her like distant thunder. Every so often, she’d give a sigh that sounded like a page turning, completely surrendered to her nap. A creature of extremes: the restless explorer and the blissful sleeper, living both roles fully, without hesitation.

The house feels more alive with her in it – every echo chased, every corner warmed by fur and sound. She’s a reminder to be curious when awake, and utterly comfortable when it’s time to rest. #doodle #digitalmarkers  #mabsdrawlloweenclub2025 #familiar #purringmagic 🐾 #mdwc25d2 #mabsdrawlloweenclub

🍂✨ First of October arrives quietly in the mountains, carrying that delicate shift in the air that makes you pause at the door and just breathe. The edges of the  Blue Ridge catch the morning sun like a slow flame, tinged with gold and faint rust, while the fog lingers low in the valleys, stretching and yawning like it just woke up.

Crows gather in the oaks, chattering over squirrels that fuss at them from fenceposts. Woodsmoke drifts from chimneys, curling into the scent of damp leaves underfoot. At the market, baskets are heavy with apples and pumpkins, and every corner seems dusted with cinnamon and laughter. The sidewalks feel slower somehow, as if October whispered, “Take your time. Notice everything.”

By evening, the mountains pull a quilt of shadow over themselves. The air sharpens, crickets hum a slowing chorus, and stars spill across the sky like salt across a black table. A deer rustles just beyond the treeline, an owl calls from somewhere farther, and the night smells of smoke and damp earth. Inside, blankets wait, mugs steam, and the last light of sunset turns the ridges red and gold, like the mountains are holding onto summer a little longer before winter comes.

October in the Blue Ridge is both mystery and embrace – inviting you to wander in its colors and quiet, then gently nudging you back toward the warmth of home. 🍁

#BlueRidge #OctoberWhispers #AutumnMagic #october1 #mabsdrawlloweenclub #spookyintro #mabsdrawlloweenclub2025 #doodle #roanokeva #mdwc25d1

Skunky bonanza!

Last night turned into quite the skunk gathering. Four adults came through, each distinct, each with their own way about them. King was there – unmistakable, with that white crown on his head set against a mostly black coat. He always carries himself like he knows he’s the monarch of the yard.

Two of the others looked to be rowdy brothers, full of energy and not much patience for quiet. They chased one another across the grass in little bursts, zig-zagging and stomping, like a midnight game of tag. Not mean-spirited, just that kind of rough-and-tumble play that makes the night feel alive. The last one brought up the rear, calm and measured, more interested in sniffing at the leaves than joining the chase.

They didn’t all arrive in one group, more like a shifting parade – one appears, another follows, then the sounds of rustle and shuffle move off into the dark. By the end, it felt like the yard had played host to a skunk council, King watching over his rowdy brothers and the quiet one who lingered.

#skunks #backyardvisitors #rowdybrothers #nightwatch #kingwithacrown #roanokeva #backyardzoo

Rain is easing into mist this afternoon. Another envelope from Lowe’s, their “exclusive credit offer,” all bold letters and promises of savings. They want you to think it’s a golden ticket, but the shine wears off quickly. The fine print is the trick—high interest, too many strings, and not much protection for the folks who take the bait.

The in-laws learned the hard way. Their wallet was stolen, and before they knew it, about two thousand dollars in charges were racked up on that card. Reported it immediately, but Lowe’s credit has no purchase protection to stand behind them. No help, no shield, just the bill to pay. Feels less like a helping hand and more like a trapdoor.

So the flyer goes in the recycling, not in my wallet. A reminder that not every offer is meant for us. Sometimes the safest bargain is to walk away.

#lowes #credittrap

Back yard visitors tonight: two stripe-tailed acrobats bouncing under the stars. They circled, darted, and spun, like they were practicing for a midnight parade. A tumble here, a playful shove there, tails puffed out like feather boas.
I couldn’t help but laugh quietly from the porch.

Who knew skunks could look so delighted just being skunks? The little duet made the yard feel like a stage, and I was the lucky audience.

#backyardzoo #skunks #roanokeva #nightlife

https://lmstudio.ai/

Watching “My Neighbor Totoro”, doodling, and relaxing on the couch with the girls, our bellies full of spaghetti. Not a bad way to spend Friday night!

#digitalmarkers ##roanokeva #doodle #totoro

Watching "My Neighbor Totoro", doodling, and relaxing on the couch with the girls, our bellies full of spaghetti. Not a bad way to spend Friday night!#digitalmarkers ##roanokeva #doodle #totoro

— Scottobear (@scottobear.bsky.social) 2025-09-27T04:35:53.389Z

Tonight’s viewing  –

The Mummy’s Tomb

Lon Chaney Jr. takes over as the mummy,

though you’d barely know it under all those wrappings – his main job is to lumber menacingly and strangle folks in darkened rooms. He does it well enough. The pace is unhurried, dreamlike, and at times a little sleepy, like watching old ghosts go through the motions.

What works: the atmosphere. Candlelit rooms, winds howling outside, shadows long as memory. The sense that the ancient world has reached across oceans and decades to grab small-town America by the throat. Also, Dick Foran shows up again, a nice through-line from the previous movie.

What doesn’t: the script doesn’t give much new. More a retread than a resurrection. By the time torches come out and the villagers chase the poor bandaged guy, you can almost hear the studio thinking, “good enough, next reel.”

Still, it has its charms. If you like your horror in black-and-white shades of fog and superstition, with a monster who never hurries but always arrives, it scratches the itch. A B-movie midnight snack.

My ★★★ review of The Mummy’s Tomb on Letterboxd https://boxd.it/bbAhLn

Captain Clegg

No dripping fangs or stitched corpses here the menace comes in the form of “marsh phantoms,” skeletal riders galloping through the mist. They glow, howl, and vanish across the marshes like Halloween lanterns on horseback. Perfect imagery for a cold night when the house creaks.

The real tension though is human – secret identities, contraband, and villagers bound together by fear and loyalty. It’s as much cloak-and-dagger as cape-and-coffin. The phantoms, revealed as clever tricks, still work like a charm – illusions that give shape to the unease we already feel.

Cushing commands the screen, equal parts warmth and quiet menace. He’s the reason to watch. Hammer fills the rest with mood: tavern whispers, gallows threats, and that windswept marsh that feels like it could swallow whole caravans.

Not horror in the creature-feature sense, but it lingers. A folk tale about masks, justice, and what people will do to keep their world from being unmasked. A candlelit yarn, told in thunder and fog.

My ★★★ review of Captain Clegg on Letterboxd https://boxd.it/bbAudt

Little skunk has come round again, padding soft through the damp dark. The camera picked him up tonight, and you can hear him – sniffling, clicking, a tiny percussion of curious noises as he moves along. Almost conversational, like he’s talking to the ground, or humming a tune meant only for his nose. He seems healthy, fur glossy, tail full, carrying himself with the careful confidence of someone who knows every corner is already mapped in scent.

I find myself leaning in closer, not to see but to listen. That soft clicking is oddly comforting, a heartbeat in miniature, stitched to the night. A reminder that even the smallest creatures carry music with them. Out there, under a low sky, rain still beading on leaves, he’s making his own kind of company.

The house is quiet, but not lonely – there’s little skunk, keeping time just outside the edge of the light.

#roanokeva #backyardzoo #skunk

Two skunks in the back yard tonight, not just passing through this time, but pausing to play a little. Black and white shadows in the grass, rolling and darting, pausing, then darting again. A tiny comedy act under the stars, tails high but not in warning – just balance, just joy.

A little distant from the camera but I am delighted nonetheless. They circled each other, a soft shuffle in the dark, like kids inventing games only they understand. Then, as quickly as they appeared, they slipped off toward the brush at the edge of the yard, leaving the grass swaying in their wake.

A reminder: even night wanderers carry lightness.

#roanokeva #backyardzoo #skunk

Before the dawn had quite shaken itself awake, the young skunk returned. Rain still stitched the air in fine threads, soft drizzle darkening the soil and whispering against leaves. The camera caught sight of the little wanderer moving with the same calm assurance as before, stripes dimmed by the hour but still bright enough to mark its passage like a brushstroke of moonlight left behind.

It nosed along the wet grass, unconcerned with the hour or the weather, a creature of patience and pattern. The world was hushed – no birdcall yet, just the steady murmur of water and the sound of its small paws through the damp. For a moment, it felt as if time had paused to let the skunk have the stage.

A reminder that even in the grayest light, there are secret visitations, wild and unhurried. The camera watched until it dissolved again into shadow and rain, leaving us with the quiet gift of its return.


Mood: Early-hour reverie.

Weather: Steady drizzle, dim sky.

Fortune: If you rise before the day, expect to meet companions who keep their own hours.

#backyardzoo #roanokeva #skunk