Are you sitting comfortably…..preferably with a light beverage…..tea in a bone china tea cup perhaps?
Oh well, I'm going to begin anyway.
Welcome to the Valley of Imaginings.
A place that may seem frivolous…..on the surface…. to the untrained eye.
Bordered to the north by the densely populated land of well-remunerated-respected-endeavour and bound in the south by the sad shores of lost hope, it is a place of dream and myth and story.
dreamy it may be;
all 'roses around the door'
it is not.
Not picture book perfect.
Not at all.
A little quirky, a little strange and possibly charming.
This land is full of critters
but folk do not live in the valley,
the valley lives in them.
One of the first that we might meet would be Violette.
Almost daily she leaves her house to fend for itself, heavy laden as it is with memory and dust and she walks down to the valley to read from her book of sorrows.
Or as slouchy hare, so often the audience for these words, chooses to call it, "the spotty book of dotty jottings"
In the meadow, a-buzz and a-waver with shimmering wings and dancing flowers
Many questions rise up in Slouchy's fluffy, stuffed brain but with a mouth that's just a row of stitches he emits no sound and Violette has not thought to listen to his silence.
Sometimes when his thoughts float passed like a dandelion seed Violette dismisses the faint sensation preferring the solidity of the words that she reads in her book.
Possibly not even a beginning.
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