I know I can't own a hilltop, a meadow, or a mountainside. But keeping it a secret somehow makes it mine.

Ugly or beautiful, it is the little creatures that make the world go round. We should celebrate and appreciated them in all their wonderful diversity.

What a magical place," she whispered in an awed voice. "I expect a unicorn or fairies to appear.""What would the fairies be doing?" Shermont asked. "Waltzing with the butterflies," she answered before thinking.

Just this once, in the very heart of the busiest of cities, everyone was perfectly content not to move and hardly to breathe. And for those few minutes, while the song lasted, Times Square was still as a meadow at evening, with the sun streaming in on the people there and the wind moving among them as if they were only tall blades of grass.