Deep in the woods where sunlight falls in leaf-shaped puddles, there runs a stream over pebbles and rocks. It tumbles over ledges in shallow waterfalls, and lends a joyful soundtrack to life in this hidden glen. To eyes that can see such things, there are signs of activity everywhere. Cleverly arranged stones and branches in the stream hint at little feet crossing the water from one bank to the other. Tidy piles of acorns alongside clusters of mushrooms and branches of dandelions tell a story of bustling, pint-sized morning markets, while toadstools under daisy umbrellas paint a picture of friends sharing lazy cups of tea and the latest news.
Most big people are too busy to notice these signs. Truth be told, few big people even trouble to visit this little village in the woods anymore. It’s too bad, because they are missing something wonderful. Believing in the impossible keeps you young, you see, for without wonder and magic in your life you can’t help but grow old.
Every village is like a tiny galaxy, with one star around which all the rest travel. The centre star of galaxy is seldom the brightest or the largest, and the same is true of centre people. They hardly ever look like someone who is capable of keeping everyone else on track in their own orbits, but there is something about them, some deep magnetic pull that they aren't aware they have. They are the kind of person others always come to talk to about their troubles, ask advice of, rely on to fix problems, and trust will know how to solve dilemmas. In our village in the glen, that centre star is a dragonfly named Ruth.