Though she resided in a simple, small town, Carolina had always dreamed of one day traveling the world. She had never actually thought that she would be able to achieve this in her current life, as she had become quite old. Little did she know, she was soon to find her metaphorical rabbit hole to Wonderland.
It was on a cold and cloudy day that Carolina Summers found herself tending her sparse garden. The few carrots reaped were small and shriveled, the cabbages thin and weak, and the melons hardly reaching a green color in the least.
So it was to the market that Carolina headed. With a few coins jingling in her money purse and determination jingling in her soul, she laced her tall kid boots and began the miles-long trek to the nearest town.
On the way she had passed many farms like her own, though many of them were much larger than her humble homestead. They boasted herds of huge cattle, flocks of sheep, and earth-colored Clydesdales, while Carolina’s meager farm boasted only the withered garden and the age-old tom cat that prowled around, catching what few mice there were.
So it was with envy and grit that she gazed upon these large farms, run by only the most powerful and influential families. She was determined for her own abode to someday provide an aura of grandeur, though her family was not from this area, she was quite poor, and perhaps the second least influential person in the entire county. But of course this could change with time, she thought. Anything can change with enough time and enough work. This was her motto, and she had stuck to it through thick and thin.
Thinking through this on her hike to the market, Carolina was soon shaken from her thoughts by a disturbance in the underbrush near her feet.
Squatting by the quivering leaves and peering through them, Carolina gasped in surprise. For it was none other than a miniature man that had stepped out from the underbrush near the road!
He wore a tall and wrinkled blue hat, green tights, a yellow buttoned tunic, and red stockings inside tiny leather boots. His face, which was as old and wrinkled as his hat, wore red rosy cheeks and a cheerful smile. For a moment he simply looked up at Carolina without surprise, then he took off his hat and smiled, saying,
“greetings, my fair lady. How fare you on this fine morn?”
Being quite taken aback, Carolina found herself completely speechless for a few moments. Before long, though, she found which words she would like to say, though only a few sentences could not hold all of the questions now swarming in her mind.
“G-good morning, fine Sir. And how polite you are! Such a thing is refreshing nowadays. But I must ask, how is it that you are so… close to the ground, I wonder?”
“I am close to the ground, because I am standing on it!” The small man laughed, his withered hat nearly falling off his furry head. “But I do know that that is of course not what you mean.
end
