Image to inspire a fairy tale by – Theodore Kittelsen
The boy had travelled far in his quest to reach the golden city. It was his third attempt. The previous attempts it had rained and made the creeks and river impossible to cross. He began to wonder if the sight of the city, away on the horizon was nothing more than an illusion.
But last night he had been visited in a dream by his fairy godmother. She told him to be strong, to persevere to reach his goal would take great inner strength.
There was one last mountain range to navigate, one last raging stream to cross. He found a bridge but the troll like bridge keeper demanded a high price. He had little to bargain with save himself and the troll saw only the skin and bones, hardly worth bothering about.
He let the boy pass thinking he wouldn’t last long anyway, let the crows pick his bones clean.
Around a bend in the road he saw the gates to the golden city. A woman stood nearby whom he recognized from his dream.
“Welcome,” she said. She stretched out her hand and took his in hers. The boy was immediately filled with warmth and strength. He felt renewed, his flagging energy reinvigorated.
He laid his constant companion, walking stick, at the entrance to the city, stepped into a new life as around him wonders never realized surrounded him.