Mrs. Bumbly knew how grateful she should be for her privilege to walk assumed germ-free streets with her son. Clean air coursing through their lungs, they strode on strong and sure legs. Strange days gave them family time at home with loved ones.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Miserly,” she told her boss. Bumbly’s job let her work remotely. Internet providers in her first-world village had high-speed thanks to the Gnomian government where no one controlled the information flow … yet.
Sensing her fear, the little one comforted her from within youthful oblivion’s soothing embrace. “Don’t panic, Momma. We’re almost home.”
I’m going around feeling like the other shoe is going to drop when I least expect it and it’s very unsettling. (Love me some garden gnomes.)
That’s very much how I feel, Tara. I saw little Gnomia on a recent walk and thought how nice it would be to live there.