Have you ever been in a large forest and seen a strange black tarn hidden deep among the tall trees? It looks bewitched and a little frightening. All is still—fir trees and pines huddle close and silent on all sides. Sometimes the trees bend cautiously and shyly over the water as if they are wondering what may be hidden in the dark depths. There is another forest growing in the water, and it, too, is full of wonder and stillness. Strangest of all, never have the two forests been able to speak to each other.

By the edge of the pool and out in the water are soft tussocks covered with brown bear moss and wooly white cottongrass. All is so quiet—not a sound, not a flutter of life, not a trembling breath—all of nature seems to be holding its breath listening, listening with beating heart: soon, soon.

When I was a little girl I used to borrow this picture book from the library at least seven times a year. I would always stare the longest at the picture of the twelve sisters in the forest of the leaves of silver and gold.

I want to be a little paper doll and live in my paper house and wear paper clothes with the white tabs for fit. Everything would be neat and light and bright with the smiles drawn on and the beds always made. I would be a little worried about the rain though.