elfs | What happens when I get writer's block...

Here is Winnie The Pooh, now aged and retired, his seams a bit worn and the thread a bit unravelled, standing in his garden and thinking about his next spot of honey. His red shirt is long gone, replaced once and for all by a forest green vest made of Canadian Hemp. He wears green rubbery galoshes to protect his paws from the soil.

Pooh Bear, as he prefers to be called by his friends, looks out from his garden over the grey-green waters of Puget Sound. He has moved here to be as far as possible from the lawyers who made his later life so tulmultuous, to be as far as possible from the grasping children of his creator, and still be in a land where people spoke (or pretended to speak) English.

He had considered Alaska, but it had proved too blustery on his one visit there. He had settled instead for Seattle, where the sensibilities of those who lived in that fabled city matched his own in both curiousity and naivete. He supposed that there were other ways to live, but he had never thought of any.

Piglet comes out now from the two-story brick house on Alki they share and stands beside Pooh to watch the sun descend behind the distant ridge of the Olympic mountain range. He wears his own pair of little rubber boots and a necklace of glass beads, all the colors of the rainbow.

Pooh smiles when he sees the necklace, although he thinks it bit silly. Being a bear of very little brain, he does not understand why it carries so much import to little old Piglet. It was not to say that he did not love Piglet, of course he did; they were friends still as from the very start. It was simply that he did not think the necklace applied to them, not so much as their physical affections had not worked as they simply lacked the essential parts with which to make them work at all.

But to Piglet, the necklace and all that it means is very important.