Like angels on the head of a pin...

Ya know what really tickled me when Chuck and I picked out this land four years ago?

Moss.

I love moss, but haven't lived anywhere with moss since I was nine years old. I missed having moss. Now I have lots of moss and I never fail to get a 'heart val-ump' whenever I discover another patch.

When I was very little my mother told me that at midnight the elves come out and dance on the moss -- a strange memory in that my mother was not given to stories of fantasy. Most of her stories dealt with evil little girls who get their proper come-uppance -- like the one about the cranky little girl who wouldn't let her mother comb her hair, so she left the house without her hair combed and the birds mistook her head for a nest and started dropping worms and bugs and bird poop on it.

Perhaps because it was so out of character for her I believed her story well past the time I should have known better. I think some part of me keeps hoping to find a tiny shoe left behind.

Or some other evidence...


This is Gnome Hill, after all...