If you had a time machine and could send just one message to your past self, what would it say?
If I had a time machine and could send one message to my past self, I think I’d tell her:
You make it.
I know you don’t believe me.
Actually, I know you’re probably rolling your eyes at me right now because you’ve already decided you won’t.
You’ve spent so much of your life fighting with yourself. With food. With your body. With your own reflection. You’ve hurt yourself because sometimes physical pain felt easier to understand than whatever was happening inside your head.
And there will come a point when you don’t just think about dying.
You’ll make a plan.
You’ll decide you’re not going to make it to 30.
But you do.
You’re 33 now.
And, because apparently we like to overachieve, you’re about to spend the next several months in medically induced menopause. 😂☠️
I know. I KNOW.
Thirty-three and menopause was definitely not on the bingo card.
But here’s the part I really wish you could see:
You’re doing it because you’re trying to give yourself a better chance at having a baby.
You.
The girl who couldn’t picture herself making it to 30 is 33 years old and planning for a child.
You’re planning a future.
And there’s something else you’re definitely not going to believe.
Remember that 18-year-old who walked out in the middle of his shift on a busy night?
The one who, for some reason, you just knew was going to leave an impression on your life?
Yeah.
Him. 😂
You’re both living completely different lives right now. You’re married. He’s engaged. And no, before your brain goes there, absolutely nothing is happening between the two of you.
But you were right about one thing.
He does leave an impression on your life.
You just have absolutely no idea how big of one yet.
Years from now, he’ll come back into your life permanently.
He’ll become your best friend.
And somewhere along the way, without either of you really realizing when it happened, that friendship will turn into something neither of you saw coming.
And this is the part you’re really going to have trouble believing:
You’re going to fall completely in love with him.
Yes.
A man. 😂
I know.
You’re still bisexual. You’re still ridiculously attracted to women. Apparently men, on the other hand, are going to have exactly one exception.
Him.
Turns out, you don’t fall in love with him because he’s a man.
You fall in love with him because he’s him.
And one day, that 18-year-old who walked out in the middle of his shift on a busy night—the one you somehow knew you weren’t going to forget—is going to be sitting beside you while you plan a life together.
A home.
A family.
Even a child.
And the craziest part?
He’ll change your life without ever setting out to.
He won’t rescue you.
I need you to understand that part.
Nobody swoops in and magically fixes everything that happened to you. The things you’ve survived don’t disappear. Some of them will follow you longer than you think they should.
Even years later, you’ll occasionally see a woman in public who looks just enough like someone from your past that your body reacts before your brain can remind it that you’re safe.
Healing doesn’t erase the past.
But your life gets bigger than it.
And that boy won’t save you.
He’ll just be there.
He’ll become your best friend. Your safe place. The person you laugh with, annoy, cuddle, build ridiculous little memories with, and eventually start imagining an entire future beside.
And somewhere along the way, without either of you realizing it was happening, you’ll stop counting down the years you have left.
You’ll start thinking about all the years you still want.
You’ll start thinking about a baby.
You’ll start thinking about growing older.
You’ll start making plans that stretch years into the future.
And someday you’re going to realize something that would probably make you cry if I told you right now:
You didn’t just make it past 30.
You built a life you actually want to stay for.
So if I could tell you only one thing, I guess it wouldn’t actually be some profound piece of advice.
33 years old and about to go through menopause for the next 3–6 months.
Am I an overachiever or what? lol
I had my post-op follow-up this week, and everything went really well. I’m healing better than I expected, which is a huge relief because just a week ago I was convinced this whole recovery process was going to drag forever.
Now comes the next part.
My doctor wants to start me on a monthly injection that will put my body into a medically induced menopause for a few months.
Which is…a sentence I definitely did not expect to be saying at 33.
The goal is to suppress the endometriosis that may still be hanging around and hopefully help shrink my fibroid, too. It’s temporary, but knowing something is temporary doesn’t necessarily make it sound less intimidating when the word involved is menopause.
I have no idea exactly how my body is going to react yet.
Hot flashes? Probably.
Mood swings? Maybe.
My body deciding it suddenly hates me in brand-new and creative ways? Honestly, at this point, I wouldn’t even be surprised. 😂
But there was good news mixed into all of it.
My doctor said that after this treatment, I should have a better chance of getting pregnant.
And that makes the next few months feel a little easier to accept.
Not necessarily easier to go through, because I’m sure there are going to be days when I’m hot, irritated, exhausted, emotional, or all four at once and wondering why I agreed to any of this.
But easier to understand.
There’s a reason for it.
There’s something I’m working toward.
For now, I’m just trying to take everything one step at a time and let my body do what it needs to do.
And on a completely unrelated but equally important note:
I CAN FINALLY PICK THE KIDDOS UP AGAIN.
Recovery has made me realize how much I take little things like that for granted. Being able to scoop one of them up, carry them around, or have them climb into my lap without immediately worrying about my incisions feels like getting a tiny piece of normal back.
Honestly, that might have been the best part of the entire appointment.
So that’s where I am right now.
Healing well.
About to temporarily enter menopause at 33.
Still dealing with endometriosis and a fibroid.
Still hopeful.
And apparently collecting life experiences wildly out of order.
Overachiever, remember? 😂
Until next time.
— Destiny
P.S. Have you ever had your body throw you a completely unexpected curveball and just had to roll with it?
Sometimes looking closer means seeing something beautiful.
Sometimes it means looking into your aquarium and wondering what exactly your snail thinks she’s doing.
Because apparently the glass wasn’t interesting enough.
The plants weren’t interesting enough.
No.
She needed to climb.
All the way to the top.
And then hang there like this was a completely normal decision.
So, naturally, I grabbed my camera.
I’ve watched snails move around an aquarium plenty of times, but there was something different about seeing her from this angle.
Usually, we see the shell first.
The spiral.
The part that makes us immediately recognize a snail as a snail.
But from underneath, she looked completely different.
Her shell became this enormous shield above her body. Her tiny head peeked over the edge. One little antenna stretched outward while the other disappeared somewhere behind her.
And somehow, an animal we usually think of as slowly crawling along the bottom had managed to get herself all the way up there.
I think that’s what I like about taking pictures of little things.
You start noticing how strange everything actually is.
Snails climb.
Moths have fuzzy heads.
Insects have colors and patterns we can’t see until we’re inches away.
Things that seem ordinary from a distance become almost alien when you get close enough.
And this particular little alien apparently wanted the penthouse view.
I have no idea what she was looking for up there.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe she simply discovered she could climb it and decided to keep going.
Either way, I’m glad I stopped long enough to notice.
Because sometimes looking closer doesn’t reveal some profound lesson about life.
Sometimes it just reveals a snail doing something weird.
And honestly?
I think those moments deserve to be noticed, too.
— Destiny
P.S. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever caught one of your pets doing?
It’s strange how quickly your definition of a good day can change.
A couple of weeks ago, a good day probably wouldn’t have been defined by taking a shower without immediately needing to lie down afterward.
Or being able to leave the house for a few hours.
Or waking up and realizing the cramps that had been trying to kill me for three straight days were finally gone.
But apparently, this is where we are now. 😂
This week was my first full week of recovery, and I am learning that healing has absolutely no interest in being consistent.
One day, I feel almost normal.
The next, standing in the shower for a little too long makes me feel like I’ve run a marathon.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, my period decided this was the perfect time to show up and make everything approximately 700 times worse.
My body has been through enough.
She could’ve sat this month out. 😒
Still, by the end of the week, things started feeling a little more normal.
I left the house.
I saw family.
My nephews stayed the night.
I went to a baby shower.
I picked up my camera again.
And for a few hours today, I wasn’t sitting around thinking about recovering from surgery.
I was just…out.
Doing something.
Being around people.
Feeling a little bit like myself again.
Turns out, I missed her.
☕ This Week’s Comfort
Movies in bed.
My boyfriend renting the new Backrooms movie so we could watch it at home.
Cuddling in the recliner while watching him play video games.
My heating pad, even though it completely betrayed me when I actually needed it.
Naps.
Clean clothes.
A long shower.
And finally reaching the point where getting comfortable doesn’t require rearranging seventeen pillows and negotiating with my abdomen first.
There is something deeply underrated about the first few days after surgery when ordinary things start feeling ordinary again.
📷 Through My Lens
I picked up my camera again this week.
Not for long.
Not for some planned photography adventure.
I took it with me to my friend’s baby shower, and I ended up getting some really good pictures of her.
And I think I needed that more than I realized.
After spending so much time in bed or in the recliner, watching the world happen from one spot, it felt really good to look through my camera again.
To notice light.
Expressions.
Little moments worth keeping.
I’m still healing.
I’m still limited.
But apparently my creativity didn’t go anywhere.
It was just waiting for me to get off the couch. 😂
💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying
There’s a weird point in recovery where you start feeling better before you’re actually better.
And I think I’ve reached it.
Friday, I had very little pain. After the week I’d had, I felt damn near fully recovered.
Then I move around too much and my body very quickly reminds me:
Ma’am.
You literally just had surgery.
I’m ready to do things again.
I’m ready to go places.
I’m ready to stop thinking about whether something is too heavy for me to lift.
More than anything, I’m ready to be able to pick up my nephews again. 😭
But feeling better and being healed aren’t the same thing.
Unfortunately, my body seems to understand that better than my brain does.
So, for now, I’m trying to listen when it tells me I’ve done enough.
Even when I really, really don’t want to.
❤️ This Week’s Gratitude
My sister.
Without question.
This period hit me like a fucking freight train.
Norco didn’t touch the cramps.
Ibuprofen didn’t touch them.
My heating pad basically looked at me and said, good luck though.
Then my sister showed up with Midol and more disposable period panties because she knew I was miserable.
I could have cried. 🥹
There are grand gestures of love, and then there is somebody showing up with exactly what you need when you feel like absolute shit.
I’ll take the second one every time.
I’m also grateful for my boyfriend, who has spent another week taking care of me, keeping me company, watching movies with me, and generally making being stuck at home suck a little less.
For my nephews coming over.
For getting to see friends today.
For being able to go to my friend’s baby shower, even if I did have to leave a little early when I started getting sore.
And for my body.
Even though I have complained about her approximately 4,762 times this week, she’s healing.
I should probably give her a little credit for that.
😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”
Where do I even begin?
First:
Today’s poop was easier.
Listen.
Post-surgery, you celebrate different milestones. 😂
Second, I got my period immediately after abdominal surgery because apparently my uterus saw everything else happening down there and said,
You know what this situation needs? More blood.
And because I can’t use tampons right now, I have been introduced to the wonderful world of disposable period panties.
I support free bleeding.
I really do.
But I prefer my free bleeding to happen while I am sitting on the toilet like God and plumbing intended.
Feeling blood slowly leave your body while you’re wearing what is essentially a socially acceptable diaper?
Absolutely fucking not.
0/10.
Hated the experience.
And finally…
Today at my friend’s baby shower, we played the game where you guess how big around the pregnant belly is.
I won.
I was only off by two inches.
How did I estimate the measurement so accurately?
Did I carefully study her belly?
Use some sort of spatial reasoning?
Possess an unexplained talent for estimating circumference?
No.
I measured my boobs. ☠️☠️☠️
And apparently my boobs are an excellent unit of measurement.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this information now that I have it.
But I won.
So.
Science. 😂
Until next time.
-Destiny
P.s.- What’s one little thing that made you feel like yourself again this week?
The kind of history that didn’t quite make it into your textbooks.
Imagine you’re harvesting wheat in a quiet English village.
The morning is ordinary. Fields stretch gold beneath the late-summer sun, and the only sounds are the scrape of sickles through grain and the distant ringing of church bells.
Then someone hears children crying.
Two frightened children emerge near the edge of the fields. They’re alone. They don’t speak a language anyone recognizes, and their clothing looks unlike anything the villagers have ever seen.
And their skin is green.
Not painted. Not stained.
Green.
The villagers have no idea where the children came from. The children have no idea where they are.
Over the next several years, one of them will die. The other will learn English and tell a story so strange that historians are still debating it nearly nine hundred years later.
The Discovery
Harvest season had come to Woolpit.
Fields of wheat stretched across the Suffolk countryside, their stalks bending beneath the weight of late summer. For the villagers, it was one of the busiest times of the year. Every bundle of grain mattered. A successful harvest meant surviving the coming winter. A poor one could mean hunger.
It was supposed to be an ordinary day.
Men and women worked with sickles in hand, gathering the year’s crop beneath an open English sky.
Then someone heard children crying.
The sound led the workers toward a series of deep pits near the edge of the village. Long ago, these pits had been dug to trap wolves, giving the settlement its name—Woolpit, or “wolf pit.”
What they found waiting there made no sense.
There were two children: a brother and a sister. They appeared to be around the same age as other young children in the village, yet almost everything about them seemed unfamiliar. Their clothing was strange. They spoke a language no one understood.
And their skin was green.
The villagers stared at the children in disbelief. The children looked just as frightened by the people surrounding them.
No one knew where they had come from. No one understood a single word they said.
Still, a few things were immediately clear.
They were alive. They were frightened, exhausted, and desperately hungry.
Sir Richard’s Household
Unable to understand the children—or discover where they had come from—the villagers did what many medieval communities might have done.
They took them to someone with the means to care for them.
That man was Sir Richard de Calne, a local knight and landowner who lived near Woolpit.
Unlike the children, Sir Richard was no mystery. He appears in historical records outside the story of the Green Children, making him one of the few firmly documented people connected to the legend.
According to the medieval chroniclers, the children remained in his household while the adults tried to learn who they were. Ralph of Coggeshall later wrote that he had heard the story “frequently” from Sir Richard and members of his household, creating one of the closest known chains of testimony connected to the account.
The first challenge wasn’t understanding the children’s language.
It was keeping them alive.
Bread was offered, but they refused it. Meat was placed before them, and they turned away. Every familiar food the household presented was met with the same confusion.
As the days passed, the children grew weaker. It seemed they would rather starve than eat anything they were given.
Then, by chance, someone brought in freshly harvested broad beans.
The children’s attention immediately fixed on them.
According to Ralph of Coggeshall, they rushed toward the stalks and split them open, apparently believing the beans were hidden inside. When they found nothing, they began to cry. Only after someone showed them how to open the pods did they eagerly eat the beans within.
For a time, broad beans were almost all they would eat.
It was the first sign that, wherever these children had come from, they had recognized something from home.
The Boy and the Girl
As the weeks passed, the children slowly began to adapt to life in Sir Richard’s household.
The broad beans that had once been their only food were gradually joined by other meals. According to the medieval accounts, as their diet changed, so did their appearance. Little by little, the green tint of their skin began to fade.
The girl grew stronger.
Her brother did not.
The chronicles tell us that the boy became ill not long after arriving in Woolpit. He was eventually baptized, as was customary in medieval Christian society, but he never recovered.
He died.
Neither William of Newburgh nor Ralph of Coggeshall tells us what illness claimed his life. It may have been disease, malnutrition, the strain of whatever journey brought the children to Woolpit, or something else entirely.
The historical record is silent.
The girl, however, survived.
Over time, she learned to speak English. For the first time, the people caring for her could ask the questions they had wanted answered since the day she appeared.
Who are you?
Where did you come from?
How did you get here?
Her answers only deepened the mystery.
She claimed that she and her brother had come from a place called Saint Martin’s Land—a country where everyone had green skin, daylight never seemed to become full daylight, and another, brighter land could be seen beyond a great river.
She told them that she and her brother had been tending cattle when they entered a cave. They heard church bells somewhere in the darkness and followed the sound until they emerged near the fields of Woolpit, far from the only home they had ever known.
It was a story unlike anything the villagers had ever heard.
Nearly nine centuries later, it still is.
Saint Martin’s Land
Once the surviving girl had learned enough English to communicate, the villagers finally asked the question that had haunted them from the beginning.
Where had she come from?
Her answer has puzzled historians for nearly nine centuries.
She said that she and her brother came from a place called Saint Martin’s Land. It wasn’t a kingdom anyone recognized, and it appears on no known medieval map. Despite centuries of searching, no one has ever identified a real location that perfectly matches her description.
According to the chronicles, she described a world unlike the one the people of Woolpit knew.
Everyone there had green skin. Daylight never became full daylight but lingered in an endless twilight. Across a great river, she said, another country could be seen beneath a brighter light.
One day, while tending their family’s cattle, she and her brother wandered into a cave. Inside, they heard the distant ringing of church bells and followed the sound through the darkness.
When they finally stepped back into the light, they were no longer home.
Instead, they found themselves standing in the fields outside a small English village. They couldn’t understand the language being spoken around them, and the strangers who gathered nearby appeared just as confused as they were.
If her story was true, the children hadn’t simply traveled from another country.
They had crossed from another world.
Or perhaps that was the only way the girl knew how to explain what had happened.
Whether Saint Martin’s Land was a real place, a misunderstood memory, a child’s attempt to describe unfamiliar surroundings, or something else entirely remains a matter of debate.
Like so much of the Green Children story, the answer has never been found.
What We Know
Nearly nine centuries have passed since the Green Children were reportedly discovered near Woolpit. Although many parts of the story remain open to interpretation, several details are preserved consistently in the historical record.
The story appears in two medieval chronicles. The earliest surviving accounts were written by William of Newburgh and Ralph of Coggeshall, respected chroniclers of the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. Their versions differ in some details, but they agree on the central events.
Woolpit was—and still is—a real village. Located in Suffolk, England, its name is traditionally connected to the wolf pits, or wulf-pytt, that once surrounded the settlement. The village continues to embrace the legend of the Green Children today.
Sir Richard de Calne was a real historical figure. Medieval records identify him as a local landowner. Ralph of Coggeshall said that he heard the story repeatedly from Sir Richard and members of his household, placing him close to the reported events.
Two unusual children were said to have been found near Woolpit. Both chroniclers describe a brother and sister with green skin, unfamiliar clothing, and a language no one around them understood.
The children initially refused ordinary food. The accounts say they ate almost nothing until they were given broad beans, which they immediately recognized. They gradually accepted other foods afterward.
The boy died, but the girl survived. The boy became ill and died not long after being baptized. The girl recovered, learned English, and remained in Sir Richard’s household for several years.
The girl described a place called Saint Martin’s Land. She reportedly claimed that she and her brother came from a land where everyone had green skin and daylight resembled perpetual twilight. Both chronicles preserve versions of her account, although their wording varies.
The mystery has never been conclusively solved. Historians have proposed explanations ranging from displaced Flemish children to folklore and misunderstanding. No single theory has gained universal acceptance.
What We Don’t Know
This is where the mystery begins.
Despite centuries of study, some of the most important questions surrounding the Green Children of Woolpit remain unanswered.
Who were the children? Beyond the descriptions preserved in the medieval chronicles, nothing certain is known about their identities. Some later historical reconstructions identify the surviving girl as Agnes, but neither original chronicler recorded her name.
Why was their skin green? Both accounts describe the children as green when they arrived, and the color reportedly faded from the girl’s complexion after her diet changed. The cause remains unknown.
What language were they speaking? No medieval source identifies it, and no one in Woolpit could understand them when they first appeared.
Where was Saint Martin’s Land? The girl described a place unlike any known region of medieval England or Europe. No real location has ever been conclusively identified as her homeland.
How did they arrive in Woolpit? According to the girl, she and her brother entered a cave while tending cattle, heard church bells, and emerged somewhere completely unfamiliar. Whether this was a literal journey, a confused memory, or something else entirely remains one of the story’s greatest mysteries.
Why did they recognize only broad beans? Their immediate reaction to the beans is one of the most unusual details preserved in the chronicles. Historians continue to debate whether it reflects genuine familiarity, carries symbolic meaning, or simply has no explanation.
What became of the surviving girl? Later traditions suggest that she married and settled elsewhere in England, but the earliest sources provide only limited information about her later life. Much of what has been written about her after leaving Sir Richard’s household comes from later interpretation rather than contemporary records.
How accurately was the story preserved? William of Newburgh and Ralph of Coggeshall agree on the central events but differ in several details. As with many medieval accounts, parts of the story may have changed as they were remembered, recorded, translated, and retold.
Perhaps the greatest mystery is also the simplest.
Two frightened children appeared in a small English village.
Nearly nine centuries later, we still don’t know who they were.
Leading Theories
For nearly nine hundred years, historians, folklorists, physicians, and curious readers have tried to answer one question:
Who were the Green Children of Woolpit?
No explanation accounts for every detail in the medieval chronicles. Some theories are rooted in historical circumstances. Others belong more closely to folklore or modern imagination.
Flemish Refugees
One of the most grounded historical explanations is that the children were Flemish refugees or orphans.
During the reign of King Stephen, England was shaken by a long civil war known as The Anarchy. Flemish immigrants had also settled throughout eastern England, and periods of conflict displaced families and destroyed communities.
If the children had wandered into Woolpit from one of these settlements, several details become easier to understand. Their language may have sounded completely foreign to the villagers, and their clothing could have marked them as outsiders. Severe malnutrition might also explain why their skin appeared greenish and why the color reportedly faded once they received regular food.
The refugee theory leaves important questions unanswered, but many historians consider it one of the most plausible explanations.
Malnutrition and Chlorosis
Closely connected to the refugee theory is the possibility that the children’s appearance was caused by illness.
Some researchers have suggested that they suffered from severe anemia or a condition historically known as chlorosis, which was associated with an unusually pale or greenish complexion.
Supporters of this explanation point to the girl’s recovery. According to the chronicles, her green coloring faded after she began eating a broader diet and receiving regular care.
Malnutrition may explain the children’s appearance, but it cannot explain their unknown language, unfamiliar clothing, or their description of Saint Martin’s Land. It may be part of the answer rather than the entire answer.
A Story Shaped by Folklore
Not every historian believes the Green Children should be understood as a completely literal account.
Medieval stories often mixed real events with religious beliefs, moral lessons, symbolism, and local folklore. Mysterious strangers, hidden lands, strange journeys, and people who crossed into unfamiliar worlds were common themes.
It is possible that villagers genuinely encountered two lost or displaced children and that their story became more extraordinary as it was remembered and retold.
This explanation does not require dismissing the chronicles altogether. It suggests that history and folklore may have become intertwined.
Saint Martin’s Land and the Otherworld
Long before modern fantasy novels, medieval Europe was filled with stories of concealed kingdoms and realms existing just beyond ordinary human experience.
The girl’s description of Saint Martin’s Land—a country of perpetual twilight, green inhabitants, and a brighter land across a river—shares similarities with stories of fairy realms and the medieval Otherworld.
Some folklorists believe the account reflects these older traditions rather than describing a literal place on Earth.
Whether the girl was describing a real homeland, a distorted memory, or a symbolic landscape shaped by medieval belief is impossible to know.
Modern Speculation
No discussion of the Green Children would be complete without acknowledging the theory that has captured the modern imagination.
Some people believe the children came from another world. Over the years, they have been described as extraterrestrials, interdimensional travelers, or visitors from a parallel universe.
Supporters point to the children’s green skin, unknown language, strange clothing, and description of Saint Martin’s Land as evidence that they came from somewhere beyond the world known to medieval England.
There is no historical or scientific evidence supporting these claims.
Even so, they remain among the most popular modern interpretations of the mystery and continue to inspire books, documentaries, and online discussions.
Perhaps We’ll Never Know
The Green Children of Woolpit have puzzled people for nearly nine centuries because every explanation leaves something unresolved.
The refugee theory may explain their language and unfamiliar appearance, but not Saint Martin’s Land. Folklore can explain the more fantastic details, but it cannot tell us whether two real children stood at the center of the story. Modern speculation offers endless possibilities but little historical evidence.
Perhaps the most honest answer is also the simplest.
Two children appeared in medieval England under circumstances no one fully understood. The people who met them tried to explain what they saw.
Centuries later, we’re still trying.
Sources & Further Reading
Every History After Dark article is built from multiple sources whenever possible. Historical events—especially those preserved in medieval chronicles—often contain conflicting accounts. Where historians disagree, I’ve done my best to reflect that uncertainty rather than present speculation as fact.
Books
John Clark. The Green Children of Woolpit: Chronicles, Fairies and Facts in Medieval England. University of Exeter Press, 2024.
Primary Medieval Sources
William of Newburgh. Historia Rerum Anglicarum (History of English Affairs).
Ralph of Coggeshall. Chronicon Anglicanum (English Chronicle).
Scholarly Articles & Historical Research
Michał Madej. The Story About the Green Children of Woolpit According to the Medieval Chronicles of William of Newburgh and Ralph of Coggeshall.
Woolpit Parish Council — A Short History of Woolpit.
Visit Bury St Edmunds — The Green Children of Woolpit.
Continue Exploring
To explore the story further, compare different translations and retellings of the medieval chronicles. One of the most fascinating parts of the mystery is seeing where William of Newburgh and Ralph of Coggeshall agree—and where they don’t.
A Note on Sources
History is rarely as tidy as we’d like it to be. Many historical events—especially those hundreds of years old—contain conflicting accounts, missing records, and competing interpretations. Whenever possible, I compare multiple sources and distinguish between documented facts, historical beliefs, and modern theories. If historians disagree, I’ll do my best to tell you why rather than pretend there’s a simple answer.
Two frightened children walked into Woolpit nearly nine centuries ago.
They left behind no kingdom, no map, and no proof that Saint Martin’s Land ever existed.
Only a story.
Perhaps that’s why we still tell it. Every generation hopes it might be the one that finally understands where those children came from.
Most people probably wouldn’t have stopped for her.
She was just a little brown moth outside near the cat food.
And with cats around, that probably wasn’t the safest place for her to be.
So I picked her up.
I expected her to fight me.
To flutter her wings, scramble away, or do whatever tiny moths do when a giant human suddenly decides to scoop them up.
She didn’t.
She just let me.
No fighting.
No struggling.
She sat completely still on the tip of my finger while I carried her somewhere safer.
And maybe I’m giving a tiny moth far too much credit, but in that moment, it felt a little like trust.
So, naturally, I stopped to look closer.
Up close, she wasn’t just a little brown moth anymore.
Her head was covered in soft, golden-brown fuzz. Her wings looked almost like velvet, folded neatly against her back. Her antennae were impossibly thin, and those tiny black legs held onto my finger while I moved her away from danger.
She was beautiful.
Not in the bright, obvious way butterflies tend to be.
Moths are quieter about it.
Butterflies get flowers and gardens and people stopping to take pictures.
Moths get porch lights and people trying to shoo them out of the house.
But look closer.
There’s something beautiful about them, too.
Maybe that’s one of my favorite things about taking pictures.
It gives me an excuse to stop long enough to notice things I might otherwise walk right past.
The fuzzy head.
The tiny feet.
The way plain brown wings turn almost golden when the light hits them.
And sometimes, a tiny creature trusting you enough to let you carry her somewhere safe.
She was only on my finger for a little while.
But it was long enough for me to notice her.
Sometimes that’s all it takes.
— Destiny
P.S. What’s something small you almost overlooked lately?