MrWootton

My dear Lucy, I wrote this story for you, but when I began it I had not realized that girls grow quicker than books. As a result you are already too old for fairy tales, and by the time it is printed and bound you will be older still. But some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again. You can then take it down from some upper shelf, dust it, and tell me what you think of it. I shall probably be too deaf to hear, and too old to understand a word you say, but I shall still be your affectionate Godfather, C.S. Lewis – Dedication of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe Some time ago I wrote an open letter on the su

The daisies were magnificent this year: Swan-white, gilt-tipped, hearts blazing with All the colors of a San Francisco sunset. I wish you could have seen them! I saved as many as I could, but – What? Picnic in the meadow? Sounds lovely, dear – Me? I... [Hands fumble at the sill, rearranging pots] You go, she says, My flat's a mess, and I Have daisies still to press.

One chilly Autumn's day, the Metalmancer was busily at work crafting things in his dark laboratory deep underground, when the noise of a great weeping and lament from someplace not very far away, yet not very near, began to disturb him at his work. It was the fairies who lived in the woods that grew above him, lamenting the coming of winter, as was their yearly custom. The Metalmancer did not know this, however, for he lived deep underground, where it was always warm because of the fires of his forges, and he had no windows and so took notice of day nor night, nor kept a calendar to mark the passing of seasons; he just worked, ever busy, inve