Split Rock was a magical place to be a kid. From a distance to the sailor's eye, it looked

like nothing more than a little moss-covered island with a lighthouse on it, but up close was

much more. It got its name from the wide crack that split down the middle of the

rocky island, allowing a channel of water to pass through. Waves crashed against the sharp

cliffs to the east and gently lapped against the sandy beach to the west. Its top was covered

with a thick, spongy blanket of grass where splashes of color from the beautiful flower and vegetable gardens decorated the hills.

Sitting atop the main hill was a strange little home.

Its steep, slightly curved roof was covered in grass, and a tall lighthouse poked out of it right next to the seashell

chimney. A big water mill stuck out the side of the home and slowly creaked as the water from

the channel rushed through it. The turning water mill powered the lighthouse and sent thin

streams of water down the hill to the various gardens.

Sitting atop the hill in a smooth bottom sled was a boy dressed in a yellow onesie pajama.

His hair was dark, curly, and long in the back. He pulled a pair of goggles over his eyes,

grabbed the reins of his sled, and nudged his sled over the back. He pulled a pair of goggles over his eyes, grabbed the reins of his sled,

and nudged his sled over the damp sloping grass.

Come on, he said.

Almost.

Shum!

The sled took off down the hill,

sliding over the wet grass.

Whoa!

He jumped over bumps and curved around rocks.

...