It all began one blustery autumn afternoon, just as the golden leaves danced through the trees and the wind smelled of cinnamon and chimney smoke. I, Eloise of Fox Hollow—mouse of fine manners and curious whiskers—had just finished nibbling a sugar cookie crumb when poof!
With a sparkle, a cackle, and a sneeze (she always sneezes when she casts spells), the marvelous witch Filomena whisked me off on a most unexpected adventure. One moment I was cozy in my burrow beneath the oak tree in Meesylvania, and the next—I was twirling through time!
When the swirling stopped and my paws found the ground, I blinked up at a brand new world. I had landed in a small farming village called Sturbridge, nestled somewhere in the early 1800s. Everything was strange and wonderful!
The humans were dressed in the oddest clothes—bonnets and breeches and aprons galore! They bustled about doing curious chores with wooden tools and big baskets. I stayed well out of sight, of course, but I peeked and scampered and sniffed everything I could.
Oh, the animals! Sheep that bleated like old rocking chairs, pigs that snorted like teapots, and cows—oh! the cows! Their eyes were big and brown and gentle, like melted chocolate buttons. I sat on a fence post and introduced myself to every one of them. (They’re not much for conversation, but they’re excellent listeners.)
I visited barns with sweet hay smells, houses with creaky wooden floors, shops full of buttons and bread, and even a church where humans sang songs with no mice in the choir (a missed opportunity, if you ask me). I tiptoed through a saw mill, admired the spin of the pottery wheel, and nearly got flour-dusted in the bakery.
But the very best part of my day was the wool house.
Inside, I met a kind lady who worked with tufts of wool as fluffy as clouds. She didn’t seem the least bit surprised to find a mouse at her feet. Instead, she welcomed me with a smile and a wink. We chatted and giggled as she showed me how wool was cleaned and carded and spun into thread. I even tried to ride a spinning wheel, though I nearly got flung into a basket of yarn!
It felt like time stood still in that cozy little house—until it didn’t.
Just as the sun began to dip and the shadows grew long, I heard Filomena’s voice on the wind, calling me home. “Come along, Eloise!” she sang like a kettle on the boil.
And so, with a flick of her broom and a swirl of maple-scented magic, I was whisked back to my hollow under the oak.
I arrived tired, slightly tangled in a bit of leftover wool, but safe and snug. And oh, the stories I had! I told them all—twice—to the field mice and voles and even old Barnaby the owl (who pretended not to care, but he listened anyway).
And now, when autumn winds blow and the leaves begin to fall, I sometimes wonder if Filomena will whisk me off again.
A mouse can dream, can’t she?