Somewhere in the night, out in the rolling wheat fields and in the deep, dark woods, lives a people. Ancient, solemn, and hidden, they inhabit our world as we inhabit theirs. While we sleep, they toil away, working to keep the world round. Laugh, I know your type; educated, adult, free of whimsy, convinced that you have this world figured out. Blind to the magic you once knew as a child, when you were free from the restraints of grownup words, words like “plausibility” and “reality”.

For the rare few who still see shadowy figures in the corner of your eyes, for the few who still make wishes when stars fall and for the few of you who still find the time to dream, I have a story. Make no mistake, though some may doubt my words, what I say is true. It’s all real, as real as the eyes through which you read or the ground you stand on. I know, it’s shocking. It’s shocking to think of these creatures, invisible to our world, working to keep our world round. It’s shocking to think of these ancients.