A Troder is the least promising of all things that live in the hills. Even a rock has more pizazz and huzzah. Troders know nothing of how they came to be. They have no sense of family history. They simply wake up one day — a Troder. The Woman of the forest, ever faithful to her senses, can smell it anytime a Troder is in the neighborhood. And she is seldom long in finding out its business....
Be it near or in a land far, far, away. Be it short or long ago, as once-upon-a-time ever was. Purple Hippo grew bored with the generous circumference of her purple-ness. As a result, and thanks to second-day free shipping, she had a slew of packages delivered to her door. Purple Hippo turned this way and that in front of the mirror, surrounded by open boxes, tissue paper, packing peanuts, and other intermediary stuff....
I am the speckled egg, a nest in the breeze, your feet on the ground, and the hole in your sleeve. -- The Lady Velasquez. Once upon a time, a big house stood on the edge of a gloomy wood. The master of the house had two children, Marta and Rico. These children so loved one another that when they were apart, they could only be sad. This pricked the man's heart to see as he still grieved for his own true love....