It was another damp and dreary April morning and even Willow Tree Cottage seemed forlorn. Tiny reached into her mind and pulled out the box of memories, carefully unfastening the latch. She tried not to visit the box too often, keeping the memories as fresh and fragrant as the day she first slipped them inside. But today was different. Today she needed to amble through the bluebell woods, to brush against the wood anemone and shelter under the ancient oaks. This memory was old and cherished, and it opened its arms to her warmly.
Tiny imagined floating in the mirror between bluebell sea and cornflower sky. She recalled tiptoeing through the fairy glen; where was it now? Ah yes, close to the where the wood nymphs roamed and bathed in golden sunbeams.
As the sun prepared to sleep, Tiny remembered running home to Her loving arms clutching a stolen posy, entranced, exhausted and ready to be held. Tiny slipped the memory back into the box taking care not to crease the corners. With the gentlest of kisses, she clasped the latch shut, placing the box back where she had found it.