Angel Wing Art Farm

I finally rescued some of my long-lost pencils from the storage unit. Really, an artist without pencils (Shame on me). Happy to be back at the ranch, I took out my newly found pencils and gave them a sniff (weird, maybe, but I love the smell of a new pencil). Now, the first thing with a new pencil is to get my knife out and start to whittle away the wood to expose the graphite. When I exposed the hidden graphite, there was more hidden within the pencil than just the graphite. To my great surprise, this particular lead-marking tool contained a wood sprite. Yep, you read that right, a WOOD SPRITE!!!                                                                                             As this story continues, it seems that this here wood sprite had somehow become trapped inside the wood of the pencil I so happened to be whittling. How do I know this, you may ask? Ah, patience, dear readers, patience.                                                                                                             Now, shocked as I was (wouldn’t you be?) I dropped the newly whittled pencil. As I sat there, the only thing I could think of was to ask, “Who in the world would you be?”                              Slowly, the wood sprite stood up and walked on over to the exposed graphite and, in a high-pitched voice, replied to my question, “Why, I be a wood sprite, my dear sir.”                         Then, with a deep bow, the newly found wood sprite continued,” And, you, my fine sir, have released me from that prison some call a PENCIL. I be trapped inside for all too long to tell.”  “Now, how in the world did you get trapped in a pencil?” I asked in wonderment of my newfound wood sprite.                                                                                                                     ‘Well, my fine sir, it seems that the magic woods I inhabited were invaded by some mighty mean tree, cutting down folks. It so happens that the tree I have called home for many a moon was picked for these roughens to chop down. After a while, me and my tree home were brought to some faraway land where us both were made into a pencil!”                      “That is quite a story,” I said as I shook my head in disbelief.                                                      The wood sprite nodded its head and then replied, “It all be true, my kind sir.”                         Then a strange noise came from the wood sprite, and the little fellow spat on the pencil it had just been released from. Shaking its head, it  then looked up at me and in a commanding, but still very tiny, voice,” Well, my dear sir, as within my oath as a tree sprite, and for rescuing me from this pencil prison, I do be obligated in granting you a favor, as it be, my dear sir.”                                  “Oh, my dear little wood sprite, I ask for no favors from you. It was my pleasure to help you escape the pencil.” I answered.                                                                                                      “Well, my dear sir, that is not the way it works in my world. One good favor deserves another.”                      I sat thinking for a moment, and then the wood sprite, in a questioning way, replied, “Well, my dear sir, what were you to be doing with the pencil?”                                                              “I have been having trouble getting into the creative mood, and I hoped that putting pencil to paper might help.”                                                                                                                             The wood Sprite scratched its head, looked up at me, and, with a laugh, said,” Well. , my dear sir, I can help with that.”                                                                                                                Then, reaching deep within its pocket,  pulled out what appeared to me to be rainbow-colored dust.                                                                                                                                           The Wood Sprite raised it to his mouth and blew the rainbow colored dust on me. “Well, dear sir, there you go. I’ll be a moving on now.” And with a flash, the Wood Sprite vanished from my sight. I shook my head, and when I finally stopped coughing from the rainbow colored dust.                  I laid the pencil on the paper, and to my amazement, I started to draw. Boy oh boy, did I ever draw. Now, thanks to sharpening a pencil and releasing a Wood Sprite, the cap on my creativity has come off, and I am back to being “The Space Ship called David.”                                                              Now, that there be a true story, my dear sir.