“I’m hoping that a dream is on its way to me from my favorite star. So, she went on, enjoying having someone to talk to. The owl blinked, and she took that as a good sign. “I love it when the trees appear and I can come to hear the songs.” Hoping to impress this stranger, she added, “I always stop and pray with the birds.” The girl wasn’t used to silence being part of a conversation, so she moved to fill the empty space: She decided to move closer, and then offered up a shy hello. They didn’t usually venture so close to the edges. She was awestruck by this rare sighting of a creature from the mysterious woods. To her, the star was the only thing in her life that didn’t move, and she took comfort in that.Īs she was walking along the edge of this newly arrived forest, she spotted an owl looking intently at her from a low perch. She didn’t want to be forever worrying about what would happen next. She feared that without this hope her life would only be full of moving woods, doors that never led to the same place, and all sorts of other ill-conceived and vexing changes. She felt if she acknowledged with a curtsy, showing humble honor, to this star that came to shine above her home, it would continue to be her beacon and that the dream it carried would make its way to where she was to light up her future. The girl believed that the stars carried dreams with them, and that if you had faith, that a dream would eventually find its way to you. She had a habit of crossing her legs and pretending to curtsy to the stars, especially to the one that always came and hung over her house. They made her think of the future and of dreams rolling in like thunder to quake and wake parts of life caught in slumber and forgetting. Even though she never went to into the trees, she always stopped to pray and listen to the songs of the birds. The birds were calling their noon time prayers, the Check In, to make sure the stars were still on track. This wood, like so many others, boasted of tall trees and branches all stretching to hold each other. The woods had a tendency to move, like doors and houses. One day, she came across a wooded spot that had not been there the day before. Not the green of dye, but more like ferns: long and lustrous, proud and strong. Once upon a time there was a little girl with green hair.
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