Fairy spirits of the breeze - Frailer nothing is than these - Fancies born we know not where - In the heart or in the air. (Extrat from Unwritten Poems by William Winter)

There’s this little house by the sea, near where we used to play pretend between the trees. Beds are made of the colours of autumn, and when you fall from the highest swings the sky falls low enough to catch you. Roses turn gold in the air of summer, and there is a picnic blanket waiting to be unfolded in the corner of every meadow. There’s a lighthouse with rickety steps which we climb and pretend we’re stranded. Everyone weaves flowers into their braids and sleeps outside, right by the ocean. There’s this little house by the sea; it’s where we will live, you and me.