This is a very real place located just outside of the city limit of Eureka Spring, AR. A local friend of mine, Jordan, has created one of the most cozy and inviting experiences. She hosts many events that are aligned with my mission of sharing the beauty and magic of our little hamlet. 

You can book this view for you and your family and see it first hand. And,yes! The porch swing really does exist. 

https://www.thebluebirdeureka.com/

#9 - Midnight at the Bluebird, Eureka Springs, AR

Perched on the edge of the Ozark sky, The Bluebird doesn’t try to impress you. She doesn’t have to. From the road, she’s all humble grace, white clapboards, a screen door that echoes like an old lullaby, and a porch that keeps her secrets until you step closer. It’s there, just past the welcome mat and the hum of cicadas, that the world tilts. Suddenly the mountains open like a dream you forgot you were having.

Most folks never realize the swing is alive with memory. Long before she hung from these rafters, she was a tree rooted deep in the hollow, a tree that once cradled a bluebird’s nest. Each spring, the mother bird would sing her joy into the morning and the sound would sink into the wood, a quiet blessing stitched into grain and heart. When the tree was finally cut, her spirit stayed. They say you can still hear her song in the creak of the swing whenever laughter fills the porch.

On rare occasions, when the Moon rises full, he calls her by name, into the velvet darkenss, “my darling Bluebird.” It was he who first gave her that name, long before the house claimed it. She rocks to his rhythm as the spirit of the bluebird made of moonlight and wind carries their whispers across the valley, the swing’s sighs of all who’ve rested in her arms, and the moon’s stories of the wild hills beyond. Some nights, if you listen closely, you’ll hear that song spilling through the air: part lullaby, part secret, part invitation.

The swing remembers everything - weddings, homecomings, birthday candles flickering out into stars. But her favorite nights are the quiet ones, when someone can’t sleep and steps outside barefoot during the midnight hour. If you ask her nicely, she’ll send a bluebird to sing the stories of joy and laughter that still live inside these walls. 

Some spells don’t need words; they only need a place willing to remember how to dream.

Moonlight Belongs to Dreamers: Love Letters to Eureka Springs, Arkansas

This piece began as a real photo, taken during a moonlit walk through Eureka Springs, Arkansas. I refine the image in Photoshop, then collaborate with a drawing tool to translate its emotion into an oil painting style. The result is a visual poem, rooted in place, rich with feeling. Every print is finished by hand and paired with its story.

This is art as invocation, an invitation to remember the magic that is all around us.