Hannah Joy's Commonplace

Chamomile zipped into Bumblediah Nimbly’s clearing, eyes wide with excitement. “There are newcomers down by the pond.” Bumblediah sat on top of a shack the size of a cedar tree. He lifted a bundle of thatch and hammered it in place as Chamomile alighted beside his toolbox, her head just reaching the top of its rim. Burt O. Range, the longhorn, swished his tail in the shade of an oak tree as he watched Bumblediah work. “What sort of newcomers?” he asked. Chamomile flicked her

Echo pounded through the trees. Thorns and vines slashed at his arms, but the thought of his master Rayrod lying prone on the forest...

“So, it is a suspicious, sad situation,” Squigle the squirrel said. Bumblediah Nimbly lowered his hammer. “If I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times, no one is stealing your nuts.” Squigle flicked his tail. “How else would they keep spontaneously disappearing?” Bumblediah held a miniature cradle up to his eye. “Perhaps, just perhaps , you are searching the wrong places.” Squigle hopped around on the fallen leaves. “Sir, are you saying squirrels lack sense?”

A thrill of triumph swelled through me as I slipped through the barbed wire fence. At last, back in familiar territory .  Early that afternoon, I embarked on a quest. I trekked down to a small park on the civilized sidewalk, my aim to discover if I could return through the woods.  I forged into the forest. When the branches blocked my path, I knelt and crawled on hands and knees over fallen evergreen. As the sun sailed high, I rested beside hidden animal burrows and wondere

Bumblediah Nimbly loved to build. Every morning he sat up in his stump house, his mind buzzing with ideas. He stood one and a half feet tall and wore leather breeches, a green coat, and an orange pointed cap. He had a white beard that stretched to his boots. He prided himself on being able to build anything and mend anything and he always delivered on time. From miles around fairies counted on him to construct their cottages. One spring morning as the sun made the new leaves

Do you love to run? I do. A commonplace journal isn’t just a place to record quotes that convey deep meaningful messages, but also those that are simply fun and special to you. I went through my two journals to find all the quotes I'd picked up over the years that involved running. There were a few that I had forgotten about and brought a smile to my face. On top of that I brought out an old short story I wrote. Both I want to share. Perhaps this post could have been called