As part of a family outing yesterday we stopped in to look at Gnomesville, in the Ferguson Valley about half an hour from home. There are thousands and thousands of gnomes there, all left by visitors. There are gnomes under trees

and in trees:

in houses:

and taking transport:

There was every gnome-pun imaginable, but my favourite was this one:

And there was this guy, who of course is not a gnome, by gnome-body told him that:

I’m sure there’s a new story or poem brewing from all of this, though it hasn’t come yet. But it did make me think of one I wrote many years ago:

Lucky

 

A new day dawns, the sun is bright;

I’m basking in the morning light.

The birds they sing their lovely song

And I will listen all day long.

The flowers smell so very sweet;

The grass it grows beneath my feet.

I’m lucky that this is my home

Because, see, I’m a garden gnome.

 

(© Sally Murphy)