Here's a silly story that I wrote about gnomes.  Donella, my dear niece, has requested that I post it.  So at the risk of being scorned and doomed to the world of Harvard-rejected-writers hell, I will post it.

The night started off sleeplessly, my mind filled with the typical worries we often busy our minds with.  After getting up and down, and wandering about the house two or three times, I finally fell into a doze with my dog Sneakers cuddled up under my armpit and began to dream.

I dreamt that I was walking down Littleton Road in front of the Community Gardens with Sneakers. The sunset covered the earth with a soft pink glow. Sneakers lifted his nose to the evening breeze. Just as we were passing the entrance to the gardens, Sneakers suddenly went crazy with his "I-see-or-smell-an-animal" bark. He raced past the broken down gate towards the gardens, and then stood at the gate whimpering. I ran to his side and looked in the garden, squinting.

There were children playing in the garden -- at least I thought they were children at first.  The "children", as it turns out ,were child-sized gnome-looking creatures.  I approximated that there were about twenty of them, all about a foot or so tall, give or take.  Their pointy hats and clothes were varying shades of green.  In addition to being able to walk on the ground, they also had a most amazingly uncanny ability to fly, even though they had no wings.  They darted back and forth like dragonflies, feet and legs flapping in the air.

Curious, I quietly opened the gate and inched closer in order to get a better look while Sneakers crouched outside like a sphinx, whining.  As I watched, one of the bigger gnomes made a gigantic flight/hop/stumble onto the top of the water pump -- the very same Guzzler 400 water pump that Joe D'Eramo bought on ebay for $35.  You'd think that with those huge feet he would have fallen right off, but he didn't.  In fact he jumped up and down on the handle of the pump.  I started forward to tell him to please get off of the pump lest he damage the fragile device, but before I could do so he clapped his hands, yelling "Listen up, listen up, class will begin now!"  I snuck closer, cocking my head straining to hear his tiny voice.

He continued his clapping and cajoling and jumping until most of the group crowded around him, listening.  When all was quiet, he said "First thing that you need to know is what this is," he said bowing down towards the pump.  He made me giggle, bowing like a ballerina with his big hairy foot sticking out.  This is what's called a 'Distributor Cap'.  Used for distributing....  er, caps.  And for drinking....  Like so..."  He jumped off of the pump onto the ground with one smooth hop, and then, stooping down, turned his head around to open his mouth towards the tube from which water emerges.  As though on command, a spurt of dirty bug-filled water gushed from the end of the pump tubing, knocking the surprised gnome down into the dirt.  He stood up coughing and sputtering, and then smoothed out his muddy jacket and pants.  As though it did any good.  He only managed to spread the mud even more.  I burst out laughing, he was so comical looking.  His muddy cap now insisted on hanging over his eyes even though he tried throwing it back several times.  I nearly split my sides with laughter seeing how seriously the other gnomes studied his every move.  They stooped with two hands on their thighs, trying to peer up the pump tubing, brows furrowed with intense interest, whispering to each other with oooohs and ahhhs.

After recovering himself, the teacher cleared his throat with a huge "Ahem!".  Then he continued.  "Now then.  These....."  He opened his arms towards the entire garden "are called plants.  Pee-Elllll-Ayyy-Ennnnn-T-apostrophe-ZEE.  Plantssssssss."  I grimaced. He paused for effect, and I could see the audience nodding to each other approvingly.  Emboldened, he continued.

He walked over to a nearby row of staked tomatoes.  "Tomaayyyyttooooeeesss....."  A mesmerizing mist of spit sprayed from his mouth and disappeared into thin air.  "Tomayyyytooooeessss are a distant relation to another plant you may know....  the potatoooooeessssss that we all know and love.  The only differences between them are, well, tomatooesssss are above the ground and potatoeeeessss are below the ground.  There are a few other unimportant differences which are much too complicated for this class."  He flapped his hands and shook his head dismissively.  "For those inquisitive minds, you may look up the 'The Theory of Tomatoes and Potatoes:  Interactions and Predisposition of G Minor Platitudes as they Relate to Erratica 1048I.21 and Related Whatnot'."

The crowd whispered to each other, "he's sooo smart!".

"Now then."  He walked over to where I know Jim and Lillian's plot is and stopped in front of the beans.  "These are beans"  he gestured, holding both arms out in a ta-daaaa gesture.  "And these...."  He turned and held his arms out to the trellis behind him, "are also beans".   He took the metal watering can that Jim keeps on a stake and swung it on his index finger.  "This is a bean tamer.   If you don't use this when the beans get to the top of the trellis, they will grow forever, up into the sky.  I once heard a story about a boy that climbed one such bean plant....  you can imagine the trouble he caused marching around the sky wreaking havoc with the sun and the rain.  It was not a pretty picture."  He shuddered.  "In fact.....  out-of-control bean plants are the cause of much of the world's problems.  Cancer, war, poverty, hatred, you name it.  If you trace every single one of these back to their source, you'll find the common denominator in every single case is an out of control bean plant.  If you do nothing else, KEEP...THE... BEAN... PLANTS... UNDER... CONTROL!"  His face turned slightly red, and his large hand scribbled through the air, emphasizing his point with an invisible chalk and blackboard..

He stopped, held his hands in a prayer position, and then raised his head to the sky, eyes closed, and lips moving ever-so-slightly.  His chest heaved as he took a deep, calming breath.  He opened his eyes and looked around. 

Then he began whistling and walking around the garden -- more like dancing really -- or walking with a jig.  His whistling filled the air like a million delicate glass wind chimes.

As if on "class dismissed" cue, the gnomes began flying about the garden.  They tossed handfuls of light -- or what seemed like light - into the garden.  They were tiny, specks of....  well, energy, for want of a better word.   Light settled over each leaf and flower of every single plant so that eventually the plants became light ballerinas, moving to the rhythm of his whistling.  The light grew until the entire garden became one huge dazzling organism. 

I caught my breath as the brilliance fell upon my head and about my body and the ground around me.  The ground became soft and bouncy, and I found myself jumping up and down as though I was a three-year-old child again.  I jumped and laughed and rolled over and over, filled with joy for what seemed like hours.  Finally I stopped, out of breath, with a feeling of complete restfulness and total contentment with the world.  I lay on my back gazing at the stars.  It was only then that I realized that the garden had become quiet and dark again.  I jumped up looking around, just in time to see a flicker of light and the tip of a pointy cap disappear into the ground just underneath the new bench that Eagle scout candidate Evan Cochrane had recently built for the gardens.  I ran over to the bench and peered underneath it.  The only thing that I saw was half of a wild carrot.  I looked around the garden.  Not a trace of the passel of gnomes was evident, not even a footprint or a broken leaf.  Not even the mud puddle under the pump remained.

In the morning when we went to the garden, there were white specks covering our plot.  Is there some truth to the rumors that gnomes live in the gardens?  I realize this was but a dream, but it is so real to me, that I'm compelled to think that maybe the world isn't what it seems to be at all.  Maybe fantasy is real life and real life is fantasy.  Maybe hilarity and laughter aren't just reserved for children, but are somewhere within us adults too. Maybe gnomes live everywhere, and their gnomish sprinkles cover the entire earth, and we're so busy in our lives we never stop to notice their existence.  I mean.....  what if?

This story is dedicated to Marla.  May the gnomes fill her body with light energy sparkles of healing.  And in gratitude to the person who placed white sparkles in our plot.