You’ve been traveling all day. The road is dusty, and long, and it’s been hours since you’ve seen another soul. It’s getting late, and the thought of sleeping on the ground and potentially getting eaten by wolves is unappealing.
Finally, up ahead, you spy a man with a cart. It’s old and lists to one side, but this is a good sign. Surely he’s coming from somewhere. You hail him, and he raises a hand in return, seeming friendly enough.
“Is the a town up ahead?” you ask once you’re close enough.
“Aye,” says the farmer.
“One with an inn?” you ask, scarcely daring to hope. You’d give anything for a roof over your head. More for a warm, dry bed.
“Aye,” says the farmer again. “Not far now.”
Then he is gone, and you forge ahead, dreams of warmth and fire and food vivid in your mind.
Still, the day drags on, and your hope fades. The sun continues its descent, and there is still nothing. But then, finally, there is a break in the trees, and the outline of buildings against the red sky. So close now. You stumble into town, asking directions of a small child gathering water at the well. Following his directions, the building in question arises out of the dark, like a lover, welcoming and open. Your savior, your place of refuge…
So the small, mobile ones are on spring break (which, with the snow days last week, means I’m going a bit mad) and we’re up to our normal shenanigans. This week we’re making a town out of toilet paper rolls I’ve been hoarding. (Though the dog has gotten a few. She loves to eat them, Landsquid knows why.)
The town keeps relocating so it’s kind of an adventure as to where you’re going to find it next.
(All the buildings have lobsters on the roofs because the small, mobile ones were overjoyed by the idea.)
We also celebrated the first day of spring by planting flowers in a pink dinosaur, as you do.
(Note the snow on the ground outside. The littler, mobile one is confused why there is still snow if it is now spring.)
Been up to anything fun lately, squiders? Ideas for our growing town?
