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I'm grasping his hand, standing on the edge of my windowsill, petrified and frozen with wonder. My nightgown dances in the night breeze and my once lady-like curls are now unruly and windswept.
The buttercup and silky white rays of light glisten through the top of the magnificent curtains into our bedroom. The light had gently stirred me from the best sleep that I could ever recall having.
"Grandma, what big eyes you have. So very big, and bright, and Grandma, what big teeth you have.
Little Red, Little Red what’s held in your hand. bags packed with cherries or sugar or cake. Little Red, Little Red what’s that on your arm.
Cinderella is now 95 years old.
The wolf, unkindly termed a big, bad one by some, was simply concerned with self-preservation.