The magic house
On a windy road, flanked by wild flowers and sweet corn, up on a hill there is a magical house.
It's a place where little dolls happen, where dresses and buttons play a dance at sun light, where two little girls play hunting dragons and a hairy guy builds furniture and toys with a happy heart.
If you come by on any given day, you will be offered mud pies and grass tea. Dolls will flock the fences trying to sit higher up to take a good look at you, the hairy man will disappear into the kitchen to make something humans can actually eat, while the doll-maker greets you a big toothy smile and a pair of glimmering eyes, shining behind black-rim glasses.
It is a good place to be.
My four little trouble makers left today. I had a chance to play with each one, to whisper stories in their ears, to comb their hair one last time, to puff their dresses and kiss their cheeks. They are off on their own adventures, I do hope they write. It will be nice to hear from them from time to time, but as I live in a magical place now, I must tend to the other little creatures who are always sprouting on every corner of my doll studio. Good bye little ones, don't forget to clean your plates and say please and thank you! .
