You lay in a woodland glade, surrounded by a towering thicket of mighty pines. The early morning dew clings to your bare skin, creating pinpricks of cold across your arms and legs. You breathe in the forest air, tinged with sap, grass, and dirt. You hear a rustling to your left and turn toward the sound. Out from the underbrush leaps some sort of wood nymph, clad in nothing but a solitary leaf. The creature dances a merry jig for you, his little legs kicking up rocks and pine needles and strewing them about. He jigs a little closer to you. You wave him away, but he attempts to jig forth again. You don’t protest this time. He jigs over you, bounding back and forth like a graceful antelope. He jigs until he can barely stand, but you watch on intentively. There is some sort of hypnotic rhythm to his little dance, like the swinging of a pendulum or a Viennese waltz. He plops down into the grass next to you, his tight little tush making a perfect indent. He stares at you with his shimmering baby blues.