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He strolls in like the floor’s a runway, only it’s made of moss. He’s got a lichen-green coat that looks like it was borrowed from the bark of an old oak, and a red hat that slices through the fog like a cheeky little lantern. He’s about 30 cm tall, hat not included, just the right size to slip into any chat before you even notice.
In his left hand, he flashes a clock, because he’s the boss of time, and not in an officey way. More like, “I fix minutes with my fingernails and a pinch of magic.” If he spots you rushing, he chuckles under his breath and trades your hurry for calm. He can’t stand people who don’t say hi, but he forgives fast if you make it right with a quick “hey” with a bit of swagger.
- He listens to the hush before sunrise to get the hours lined up
- He rubs his coat on rough tree trunks, says they tell him secrets
- He turns traffic lights green once you’ve actually taken a breath
When no one’s looking, he practises perfect dates with snails. They always arrive late, and he still applauds them. Says that’s punctual too, just the soul kind.
