As It So Happens

This is where the gnome stories gather — sometimes neatly, sometimes like socks under a bed. Glimpses from their world and into ours. Sometimes it’s something overheard, half-seen, or felt in passing — not the kind of thing you can point at directly. Other times, it’s like a shimmering reflection on a pond just as the afternoon breeze stirs — a moment that seems to pull you toward something larger, then quietly settles into nothing.

The gnomes don’t explain themselves. They show up, maybe nod at the situation, shift a pebble or two, untangle a thought — and vanish before you can say, “Was that…?”

This journal doesn’t chase explanations. It just follows where the story goes and adds what it can to the experience.