Sarah once dreamed of her own island, floating in space and time. As a little girl, when she was encouraged to give wings to her flights of fancy, she wrote tales of a woman with long, dark coppery curls who navigated the lands, floating in the air on a slice of land suspended from hot air balloons. A dragon’s tail rudder at the back of the earthy sliver dictated the direction and a rainbow-hued propeller pulled her home forward through the sun-sprinkled air. Her life was filled with adventure, her Siamese cat purred loud and serene on her silk-clad lap. She was mistress of her destiny.
Sarah turns a full circle, drinking in the scenery laid out before her. The land is a vast, autumnal carpet, dotted here and there with a ceramic-tiled rooftop. In the distance, the deep turquoise sea glints and sparkles between the mountain peaks. At last, she is atop her own, peaceful hill, rising magically from the flat land below. It is as if it has been drawn directly from a childhood dream. She listens to the slight wind as it whistles through the trees.
If she listens carefully, she can hear the gentle rattle of a propellor and cat purring with contentment.
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Freya Writes... 