Embedded in a silky forest in an ancient tree trunk, stood a hideaway house. It is blessed with the most magnificent surroundings. It is such a quaint house with a timber archway and a yellow wood door, tightly bolted with a rusty screw to the moss filled tree trunk. Dainty lace curtains, the best there is, frolicked about in the misty breeze. Below the curtains hung a crusty brass handle banging in the breeze as if to say “let me in!’’ Outside there are twisted twines hugging the roots. Moss rolled out like a carpet peeking through the cobble stepping stones. Dew drenched plants lay either side of the path with fresh wispy daisies sprouting up. Just in front of all the plants and fern was and old rotten rickety bridge untouched for what seemed like years. Fluffy wild squirrels scurry to and fro collecting the sweetest acorns and then scurrying back to their cosy burrows under the oaks.
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