As told by Maureen
I pass by Heather Azelle's little moss covered house each time that I walk down my driveway. But, even though the house, which is tucked among the red twigs of the Dogwood, is only half hidden, I rarely see her. For Heather Azelle sleeps away most of her days.
I was pulling a stubborn Thistle from around a Dogwood when I first noticed the house. At that angle I could easily see in her open front window. It appeared that no one was home, though there was a jacket and a leaf hat hanging in the corner. I was almost ready to turn away, (I was feeling guilty about peeking without permission) when the pile of quilts on the bent willow bed moved. A tiny tousled head appeared. Then the Pippsywoggin (for it was a Pippsywoggin house) stretched and yawned and hopped out of bed.
My first assumption was that this must be a rather lazy little Pip since she was sleeping in the middle of the day. But, remembering old heronr Woman's advise that it is wise to try to see the world through another's eyes before judging them, I resisted my tendency to categorize, and I moved away.
Each day after that I made a point of looking for Heather Azelle. I never saw her before 4:00, but as I became more familiar with the row of Dogwood, I noticed little books tucked away in every protected nook and cranny. I never knew what they were for until one night when I went outside to view the full moon.
There was a faint glow coming from the Dogwoods. As I silently crept closer I heard a tiny voice, and then I saw Heather Azelle sitting on a branch, surrounded by dozens of fireflies. They appeared to be listening to a story. As I watched, she closed her book and began to sing. The lightening bugs hummed in unison. I didn't understand the song, but I felt the magic of the moment, and I knew that there was much that I didn't know about Heather Azelle.
1995, 2006 by Maureen Carlson