The Little People

“Hey, Lotus, mind getting some firewood?” Mom asked.

I looked outside at the storm. Rain pelted the windows and struck the trees. The wind buffeted our sturdy little cottage and rattled the pipes.

I shrugged. I had dealt with much worse.

I quickly bundled up a d stepped outside. I squinted as fat drops of rain hit me and the wind tugged at my scarf. I pushed myself across the yard toward the woodshed. It’s a good thing Mom built the woodshed last year or our fuel would never survive this weather.

I was about to pick up some wood when a small light caught my eye. Curious, I walked into the woods toward it.

Under the many trees in the forest, the rain fell less thickly. Even the din of the storm was distant here. I could hear everything in the forest. The crunch of leaves, the rattle of branches, the whisper of wind.

I drew closer to the light. Now, I could see that it was a tiny, flickering fire! And around it sat three little people!

The little people appeared frustrated. I looked around and understood what was wrong. They needed more wood for their fire, but everything they could reach was wet.

I looked up and saw that there were some dry twigs under the bigger branches. I snapped off a few and placed them in front of the little people.

They smiled up at me, their tiny faces lit by their fire.

Suddenly, I heard my name being called. I turned toward the cottage and started walking. I looked back, and the little people and their fire were gone.

I grinned. “We’re all together on a night like this,” I whispered.  “Even those magical,”

I pushed through the forest to the cottage, with joy in my heart and a story to tell.