imagination
— the ability of turning invisible dreams into little worlds, where the impossible feels almost within reach
this morning, i wandered along the mossy path behind the house and found what looked like a tiny door in the hollow of an old tree. it was no bigger than my hand, and there was a drop of hardened sap in the middle ; it looked just like a small brass knob, gleaming in the sunlight.
i spent the afternoon drawing a cottage for the birds, with flower boxes beneath every window and a chimney that puffed out little clouds shaped like hearts. perhaps, if i leave the drawing beneath the oak tree, they will find it and take it home.
after tea, i returned to the mysterious little door, carrying a basket of strawberries and an old satin ribbon. i tied the ribbon around a branch where the sunlight fell softly, just in case a passing fairy was looking for a pretty trinket.
i thought about the small village that could be hidden beneath the roots of the forest, where mice wear tiny aprons, rabbits bake honey cakes, and every cottage has a window glowing warmly at dusk..
if i listen very carefully, i might hear their little footsteps on the forest floor.