find a creature he had heard about from his little one.
“If I look hard enough, I might also stumble upon
the gruffalo’s child,” he mused silently to himself. It would be akin to
meeting a celebrity; what would he say?
Over the branches, under the branches, weaving in
and out of knotted stumps. The woody smell of bark and ‘crunch’ of his
footsteps filling the air.
But he was in the wrong place. This wood was
too light and bright. No matter, he could use his imagination instead.
Friday Fictioneers prompt
(Main picture copyright John Nixon)
Please do feel free to comment but likewise,
please do note that I would prefer
not to receive constructive
(This time anyway…)
Thanks in advance…