“Behold, The land of the Little People…of which I am just one!”
When I was a young mother, my children, niece, and nephews used to gather around as I told them make-believe stories. Fascination glowed from captivated faces. Otherwise squirming bodies calmed as together we set out on adventures into a magical land of little people.
The little people slept in tulips, bathed in goblets, and rode rapids in walnut shells.
This was a world of sweet dreams.
Then we all grew up…no longer visiting this mystical land. Life became far too serious and our imaginations fell asleep along with the stories
I am rediscovering this magical world of my imagination. “The Land of the Little People” lives once again. In my dreams, there is a magical book with a secret compartment where the little people live with tiny tools. At night when youth sleep, they crawl out and make wonderful gifts for them.
By day, I go to work in my adult form. I gaze into faces of youth who boast of negative things trying to appear all grown up. Once in a while, the guard drops long enough for a child to reappear. Then I take out my trusty tools of the imagination and try to build the gift of wonder—before the barrier snaps back up once again.