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- Herausgeber: Kelly Johnson
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
Daisy the Deer discovers a magical sketchpad hidden beneath an ancient maple tree in her favorite meadow, a place filled with peace and wonder. The sketchpad, shimmering with stardust and glowing pages, brings to life whatever she imagines and draws. When she dreams of a cozy treehouse, the sketchpad creates a glowing drawing that soon manifests as a real, beautiful treehouse nestled in the branches. Filled with joy and awe, Daisy realizes that her dreams can come alive through her drawings, opening a world of endless possibilities and magic right in her forest home.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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IMPRESSUM
Daisy the Deer Draws Dreams
Author: Kelly Johnson
© 2025 Kelly Johnson.
All rights reserved.
Author: Kelly Johnson
Contact: 903 W Woodland Ave, Kokomo, IN 46902
Email: [email protected]
Disclaimer
This eBook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: The Sketchpad in the Meadow
Chapter 2: The First Drawing
Chapter 3: Dreams for Friends
Chapter 4: The Cloud Castle
Chapter 5: The Lonely Fox
Chapter 6: When Dreams Go Wild
Chapter 7: Drawing a Solution
Chapter 8: The Wishing Wall
Chapter 9: Daisy’s Big Dream
Chapter 10: The Sketchpad is Shared
Title: Daisy the Deer Draws Dreams
Author: Kelly Johnson
Chapter 1: The Sketchpad in the Meadow
Daisy the Deer loved quiet mornings more than anything else in the whole forest. There was something magical about those first moments of the day when the world was still waking up, and the air felt fresh and full of promise. When the sun peeked gently over the hilltops, its golden fingers reaching out to brush the treetops, it painted the sky with soft strokes of pink, peach, and gold. The clouds, still yawning and stretching, floated lazily like fluffy cotton candy, glowing with the early light.
On such mornings, Daisy would quietly trot down the winding path that led from her cozy den through the whispering woods. The path was lined with wildflowers that nodded their colorful heads in greeting—bright daisies, purple lupines, and tiny yellow buttercups that carpeted the forest floor like spilled sunshine. The gentle rustling of leaves overhead was like a soft lullaby, and the air smelled sweet with the scent of pine needles and fresh earth.
Daisy’s heart always beat a little faster as she approached her favorite place in the world—the wildflower meadow.
This meadow was a hidden little pocket of wonder nestled snugly between the thick trees of the forest on one side and the sparkling creek that sang softly on the other. It was a secret world all its own, where butterflies danced from bloom to bloom and the grass grew tall enough to hide a small rabbit or a curious mouse. Here, everything seemed calmer, slower—like the world paused to breathe.
When she reached the meadow, Daisy loved to find her special spot: a patch of tall, sweet-smelling clover that felt like soft green velvet beneath her hooves. She would lie down there, tilting her head back to watch the sky. The clouds above were her favorite storytellers. She imagined them turning into fierce dragons soaring high, grand castles with fluttering banners, or even giant scoops of ice cream stacked in impossible towers, melting slowly in the sunlight.
The breeze would play gently with her fur, tickling her ears and carrying the faint buzz of busy bees collecting nectar from the wildflowers. Sometimes, a curious ladybug would crawl across her nose, making her twitch with surprise and giggle inside.
One sunny morning, with the light sparkling like tiny diamonds on the dew-covered grass, Daisy skipped through the meadow humming a happy little tune. The melody bounced in the air, mixing with the chirping of birds and the soft babble of the creek nearby. The day was perfect—the kind of day when anything seemed possible.
As she rounded a bend near her favorite big old maple tree, something caught her eye.
The maple was ancient and wise, its bark cracked and patterned like a thousand puzzle pieces fit together over centuries. Its branches stretched wide, casting a cool, patchy shade where wildflowers loved to bloom and squirrels played tag.
Right beneath this very tree, nestled gently among the thick roots that curled out like welcoming arms, there lay something unusual. It wasn’t a pebble or a patch of moss or a sleeping caterpillar, which were all common sights there. No, this was something else—something unexpected and strange and wonderful.
Curious, Daisy slowed her trot, then stepped quietly closer, the soft earth muffling her hooves.
There, resting against the root like a tiny treasure waiting to be found, was a sketchpad.
Its cover was unlike anything Daisy had ever seen. It was soft and smooth, a deep midnight blue that shimmered faintly as if sprinkled with stardust. Tiny silver stars twinkled gently on the surface, catching the morning light in a way that made the cover glow with a mysterious warmth. It looked as if it had been waiting there for a very long time, patiently hidden in the quiet safety of the tree’s roots.
Daisy’s nose twitched as she sniffed it gently. There was no smell of ink or paper, only the fresh, clean scent of dawn and something else—something magical.
There was no name written on the cover, no label, no sign of who it might belong to. The sketchpad was a mystery, a secret waiting to be opened.
With a soft breath full of wonder, Daisy carefully nudged it with her hoof, and the cover fluttered open to reveal blank pages that seemed to glow faintly with a golden light, warm and inviting.
Her heart beat fast with excitement and curiosity.
What stories could she draw here? What dreams could come alive on these pages?
Little did Daisy know, this simple, forgotten sketchpad was about to change everything.
Daisy gently tapped it with her hoof. Then she nudged it with her nose.
Warm.
Not hot like the sun or cold like morning dew—but warm, like a cozy hug or a patch of sunlight on her fur. She glanced around the meadow, half expecting someone to come running and say, “Hey! That’s mine!” But the meadow was still and quiet.
With a flick of her tail, Daisy settled down under the maple tree and opened the sketchpad.
Every page was blank.
No scribbles. No doodles. Not even a tiny smudge.
She flipped through once. Then again. Every single page—empty.
And yet… something about those empty pages made her heart flutter. It wasn’t nothing. It was something waiting.
Daisy stared at the paper, her nose twitching thoughtfully. Maybe this sketchpad had been forgotten… or maybe it had been left just for her.
She looked around again. The breeze whispered through the grass, and a bluebird called from a distant branch. Still alone.
Daisy reached for a stick and gently dragged it across the page. It didn’t leave a mark.
Strange.
