Wintering; A Letter from the Quiet Season

Wintering: A Letter from the Quiet Season

A gentle reflection from Lady Raquel M. Carter
Victorian Mermaid · Cottage Enchantress · Keeper of Soft Magic

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My dearest Mermaid Darlings of the Stillwater Petticoat Society,

I have been quietly absent these past months, tucked away in what I can only call a necessary wintering of the soul. A gentle retreat — not of retreating from life, but of returning to it. A tender hermitage, woven of softened hours, inward breathings, and the kind of stillness one does not explain, but rather reveres.

Though this little blog has slumbered since October, it was never abandoned. I was simply drawn beneath the surface for a time, into deeper waters where Spirit leaned close and whispered,
“Rest here, dear heart. The world may wait.”

And so I rested, listened, and allowed the hush to work its quiet magic.

It felt very much like standing at the threshold between chapters — half dreaming, half becoming, entirely tender.

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A Cottage Set Back to Rights

During this season of quietude, a gentle strength began to bloom in the most unassuming of places: my own beloved cottage. I turned my attention inward and homeward, carefully cleaning, tidying, and restoring order to every nook — Carter Cottage, Scarlette Rose, and all the little spaces between.

Drawers were sorted, shelves set straight, linens folded with care, and each treasured thing returned to its proper resting place.

What a balm it has been.

There is a particular enchantment in domestic order, for as one restores the home, so too does one polish the mind, the heart, and the Spirit. Each small ritual — a book replaced upon its shelf, a candle newly lit, a bonnet returned to its peg — seemed to murmur its own blessing:

“Begin again… gently, joyfully, wholly yourself.”

My world now hums with a soft rightness, a restored rhythm I feel clear down to my bones — as though a new life has quietly unfurled without fanfare.

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At the Mermaid’s Worktable

Though the outer world may have appeared still, behind the scenes, I have been industriously tending my craft. By lamplight and candle-glow, I have been designing a collection of old-fashioned Louis Vuitton agenda companions — small, thoughtful creations that bring both focus and comfort during these wintering months.

There is something profoundly grounding about such work: the steady hand, the slow pen, the gentle discipline of making something beautiful without haste.

Some of my finest ideas, I’ve found, arrive not with noise, but with stillness.

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A Most Old-Fashioned Christmas Card Exchange

And now, my dears, something close to my heart.

I have opened the doors to a Victorian Christmas Card Exchange — a cherished tradition I have long wished to revive. Should you send a card to my humble cottage, I shall post one back to you in return, handwritten, sealed with affection, and adorned with my own mermaid-Victorian whimsy.

This exchange is my love letter to the community gathered round my hearth — not mere subscribers, heavens no — but true Mermaid Darlings of the Stillwater Petticoat Society, each of you held with great fondness.

There is something almost sacred about a handwritten card arriving by post. A small, tangible miracle. A whisper from the past blesses the present.

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A Soft Reawakening

As I emerge from this quiet season, I feel a gentle stirring — a reawakening of voice, inspiration, and creative longing. I have missed this little corner of the world; I have missed writing to you in the old, enchanted way; I have missed sharing my cottage life, my mermaid musings, my art, and my thoughtful ramblings along this winding path.

I return now steadied, softened, and more devoted than ever to the tender, whimsical, old-world living so many of us cherish.

There is much yet to come —
much beauty,
much storytelling,
much enchantment —
all stitched lovingly from the quiet strength this wintering bestowed.

Thank you for waiting.
Thank you for believing.
Thank you for walking beside me with such grace.

Until our next letter,
I send you the softest of mermaid blessings from the Stillwater shore.

Most affably yours till my next enchanting swim,
Lady Raquel M. Carter

Cottagekeeper · Mermaid Mystic · Victorian Enchantress

When the Garden Blooms and the World Looks Away

Dearest mermaid darlings,

Once upon a time, a little dream took root in the Florida sun — a wish stitched together with cedar and candlelight. Yet when the dream blossomed, not all who beheld it could bear its brightness. This tale calls to kindred spirits who have shared their joys only to be met with silence, who have watched others quietly borrow their originality, and whose tender miracles the world has struggled to understand.

Come, take my hand, and wander with me through the garden of quiet triumphs — where envy is recast into wisdom, and imitation fades before the glow of one’s true light.

A Mermaid’s Tale of Jealousy, Imitation, and the Quiet Art of Keeping One’s Joy

Once upon a golden afternoon, the winds of Florida carried a whisper through the cedar trees — a whisper that said, “It is done.”
And there before me stood the cottage I had dreamed into being: a Florida Cracker-style home with honey-coloured siding and windows that winked in the sun like mermaid mirrors. It was not built by hammer alone but by faith, by imagination, and by the silent artistry of the unseen hand that grants miracles to those who dare to believe in them.

Oh, what a moment it was! I longed to shout from every rooftop, to invite the robins and the roses to tea, to tell the whole world, 

“Look what love and spirit have made!”

But instead, I was bid to hush.

“Don’t tell a soul!" A particular lady told me.

And so, my joy was hidden under lock and key — until I discovered that the very souls I was told to keep silent from had already been told, behind closed doors and whispered walls. The celebration I had dreamt of was replaced by gossip, disbelief, and even cruel suspicion. What had she done to get that? Someone murmured. The words stung like nettles on bare skin.

So I went to my room and cried — not because my dream had failed, but because it had arrived at a chorus of shadows instead of songbirds.

The Lesson Beneath the Waves

Spirit spoke softly then, as she often does when tears blur the veil between worlds:
“Dear one, this is not betrayal — it is revelation.”

When your garden blooms, others see in it the reflection of their own soil — some fertile, some fallow. Those who have tended their dreams will rejoice in your blossoms. Those who have neglected theirs may feel the ache of comparison.
And sometimes, my loves, people imitate what they do not yet know how to create. They borrow another’s melody until they find the courage to sing their own. It is not flattery so much as confusion — admiration turned sideways.
So rather than curse the echo, bless it. Let it ring, and then return to your own song.

Four Mermaid Teachings for When Jealousy Knocks

I. Guard Your Garden with Lace and Light.

Not every passer-by deserves a tour of your roses. Share your miracles only with those whose hearts can hold wonder without trembling. The seed of a blessing grows best in quiet soil.

II. Recognise Imitation as a Compliment in Disguise.

When others copy your colours or your ways, remember: the sea does not resent the sky for reflecting her hue. She simply keeps shimmering.

III. Withdraw Gracefully into the Water.
When pain prickles, return to your element. Bathe, walk by the river, or imagine the tide washing away every shadow of resentment. Whisper:
“I release all cords of imitation and envy.
My joy returns to me cleansed and whole.”

IV. Keep Creating.
Nothing dispels sorrow faster than new beauty. Plant another flower. Write another line. Sing another note. Creation is the balm of the original soul.

The Moral of the Tale
It is one thing to manifest a dream; it is another to keep it sacred.
Those who truly love you will never compete — they will harmonise.
When the world grows quiet as your garden blooms, do not take it for rejection. It is simply the sound of your destiny unfolding beyond their comprehension.
Dance within your cottage. Brew tea for your triumphs. Let your joy echo softly through the rafters and the rose vines.
For you, dear reader, were not born to be understood by everyone —
you were born to enchant.

A Mermaid’s Blessing
“May your joys be witnessed by angels if not by men.
May your blessings stay pure and untangled by envy.
May imitation glide past you like seafoam in sunlight.
And may your heart, forever sovereign,
bloom quietly in splendour.”

If ever you have tended a secret dream and watched others mimic its bloom, know that you are not alone, dear heart. The world often learns by echo, yet only you can sing your song in its most actual key.

I should love to hear your own tale of quiet victories — the moments when you chose grace instead of bitterness, or creation instead of complaint. Do leave a note below, and together we shall make a little parlour of shared wisdom and wonder.

And in one such tender hour, as I pondered these lessons of the heart, a most extraordinary presence visited my thoughts — that of Princess Diana herself. Her energy was as soft as moonlight, yet radiant with courage. Through channelling, she offered a message both uplifting and beautiful: that love never truly leaves, it merely changes form. Her words shimmered through me like pearls upon the tide, reminding me that grace endures, even when the world misunderstands our light.

 
Most affably yours til my next swim,

 Lady Raquel Carter, The Cottage Mermaid

States, Sovereignty, and the Mermaid’s Looking-Glass; Why Hatred Outside Is Always a Call Within

Dearest mermaid darlings,

I have lately been at my little labours upon several pursuits pertaining to Scarlette Rose Cottage, a place most dear to my heart. Perhaps you have already been following along upon Instagram, where I scatter crumbs of my days in the form of stories and reels, sharing my small doings and whimsical undertakings. There shall be more news of these cottagey adventures in my following epistle, but for now, with a steaming cup of tea beside me, I felt compelled to pen a few musings concerning the curious climate of our present world.

Oft do I find myself delighting in the company of ye olde YouTube, where many a kindred spirit gathers; such lovely souls who leave the most heart-warming remarks. There is always some little treasure to be found there, whether one seeks merriment, musings, or quiet inspiration.

And yet, amidst the beauty and gaiety, my thoughts wander to the heavier notes of the age we live in. Thus, I write today in hope of shining a lantern of joy, compassion, and remembrance upon the path.

When Hatred Appears in the Looking-Glass

When we cast our gaze outward and behold quarrels, politics, and leaders who rouse great ire; when neighbours seem misguided and family trod paths most strange; it is all too easy to imagine that they are the blight upon our peace. We suppose that if only we could silence or sweep them away, the world would at last be sweet and still.

Yet, as Neville Goddard so sagely reminds us, the world is but ourselves pushed out. Each frown we spy, each quarrel we decry, is but our own reflection peering back at us through the glass. Every hatred is a signal; every judgment, a whisper, reminding us of the forgotten places within where love has not yet lit her lamp.

Religion, Control, and the Masks We Wear

In times past, I raised my children beneath the banners of religion—Mormon in one season, Pentecostal in another—and from such strictures I gathered this truth; it is not the faith itself we must scold, but the habit of control dressed in holy garments.

Parents, eager to preserve appearances, may withhold love if a child does not fit the mould; and thus the child learns a sorrowful lesson: “I shall play the part they demand until no one is watching; then only will I be free.” This is how hypocrisy is born.

No soul was meant to live in a box. We are not broken beings who must strive endlessly for perfection; we are already perfect—sovereign, radiant, whole.

The God Within

The world proclaims that we have fallen; yet it is a fib most dreadful. We are gods and goddesses in disguise, each bearing the luminous spark of “I AM.” The Great Creator is not one solitary monarch on a throne of clouds; it is the chorus of all souls together, each a perspective of the Divine.

When I speak and am not heard, it is not for want of truth; it is simply that the frequency of love rings high, and only those attuned to its key may hear the melody. I must not lower my vibration for comfort’s sake; rather, I must continue in communion with my Mermaid Inner Being, who abides always in joy and splendour.

States of Consciousness: The Mermaid’s Tale

Neville taught that all is but a state of consciousness. Joy is a state; sorrow is a state; gossip, hatred, compassion—all are but costumes we may wear.

Once upon a time, I was a mermaid of Weeki Wachee Springs, wearing my glittering tail, swishing through sapphire waters, smiling at wide-eyed children. That was a state. When I climbed from the spring, laid aside my fins, and merrily introduced roller-skating birds to the crowds, that was another state. Neither was truly me; both were roles, masks, garments of the moment.

And so it is in life. When we dwell in hatred, it is but a state. When we rise into love, it too is a state. The “devil” itself is nought but the state of disowning our own divinity.

The Choice Before Us

To awaken is to remember that we are the playwright, the actress, and the entire stage. We may choose to dwell in bitterness or bask in joy; to clothe ourselves in gossip or in kindness. The looking-glass of the world will always reflect the garment we wear.

So, the next time you feel inclined to despise another for their politics, their faith, or their folly, pause, dear heart. Gaze gently into your own Mermaid’s Looking-Glass and whisper, “What state am I in? What part of my own divinity have I forgotten?”

And then—choose again.

For the sweetest truth of all is this: we are the gods of our reality, mighty and beautiful, capable of weaving enchantment with every thought and every breath.

 

A Cottage Mermaid’s Benediction

May your heart be as a lantern, ever glowing with kindness;

May your words be soft as sea-foam, bearing truth without harm;

May your steps be guided by the quiet knowing that you are sovereign, whole, and radiant;

And may you always remember, dearest soul, that you are the very spark of the Divine,

capable of weaving beauty wherever you go.

Swim gently through this life, for you are loved beyond measure.

Most affably yours til my next swim, Lady R