Dream Home
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They say there are fairies at the bottom of the garden, well, I know here are. I live beside the heath and every night at midnight out they come, rain or moonshine, to perform among the bushes and the trees; skipping and tripping and whispering in tuneful melody, "Who's coming out to play, who IS coming out to play?!" And one at a time they call, "Doctors, nurses, policemen, judges, teachers, next door neighbours", and before you can shout, "And me, and me!" Off they've shot!
But that's not a concern for today, lets leave the fairies to play in peace. Today's story comes from much further afield, a distant mountain side in the shade of the forest pine, where 'our friends' live in a olde wooden cottage: Jack, who lives in a box; Little Mary, fragile and sensitive; Nanny, the sweet and beautiful lady and big, strong Boris.
Their home is situated in two acres of beautiful woodland, with many beautiful features. At the bottom of the lovely garden is an enchanted tower, where all the visitors become enchanted and never want to leave. Throughout this fertile garden grow strange flowers and fruits, wild berries and mushrooms, all ripe for the picking. Around the perimeter runs a wall, high enough to keep the strangers out, and in.
One morning in spring, long before you or I would be awake, a chopping noise could be heard from the tower. Jack, who never managed to sleep much at night, crawled from his box, dark rings under his eyes and limping, and peeped through the curtain, The dawn was breaking, a slither of light stretched across the horizon as sharp as a razor, cutting into his over sensitive weary eyes. Once accustomed to the light he could make out quite plainly Boris chopping away frantically at the bottom of the garden. Jack laughed to himself, "Crazy, crazy, crazy crazy".