Time was when waking meant routine steps to and from the damp eyes and damp pants of ‘reception’, enlivened by the freeing chimes of minature milk bottles to a place in the heart of a most unlikely woodland. Recalling the enchantment of early years is often like visiting some mystical realm, an ever blurring world of part fact, part fiction; The dodged-in patina of a childs unfettered eyes. To step between the glistening blades of charmed grasses in a secret fairy glen of hollowed trees, toad stools and drowsy owls made ever sweeter by clasping the round reassuring hands of love seems all but delerium now. This little bit of the fairy realm seemed to be a hang-over of more rural times past, when village life almost anywhere in our moist verdant realm surely gave up the magical world of the woods. In this secret glade nestled in a space just beyond the playing fields and the school gates magic touched everything. School was a dazzling disappointment by compare except on the special freeing occassions of nature study when it could be found and explored by all the denizens of the yard. The charmed safe world of the fairies opened ones heart to a special kind of learning, far away from the harsher lessons of the goblins and the dungeons that inhabited home.
This other-worldly place was full of hopes promise and freedom, but what of your ‘word’ in your world that offered up the same?
