little things.

Oklahoma in June = wet, heat, and humidity. It's like living in my own little terrarium.

Bonus? When I'm hanging out laundry (or possibly, lying on a blanket in the shade waiting for the laundry to be dry), I happen upon little things like this...


If you were a Little Person, wouldn't you choose just this mushroom to build a little house under? Look at your yard, covered in cheery shamrocks. A lucky yard.

Of course, living under a mushroom is bound to have it's downsides. Like, oh, say... INVASION.

sniff sniff sniff...


snuffle snuffle snuffle...


Whew. Tragedy averted.


Priscilla: "What?"


When I was a little girl, my uncle used to tell me stories about the Little People, a Cherokee legend. (Of course he often peppered his version with tales of the mean variety of Littles, which meant my fascination was a bit breathless anticipation and LOOK-OUT-BEHIND-YOU! fear. Uncles.)

I spent many a summer afternoon playing in the woods behind my house, and I would watch close about me, trying to catch a glimpse. But I was never successful.

In my head, the Little People were teeny, tiny beings, like Thumbelina (one of my very favorite fairy tales!) They lived in a scaled down version of my world, with soft green moss as their yard and wild violets for trees.

And when it was hot, and humid, and mid-June...they lived in mushroom houses.