By Ernestine Dail
It was daybreak in the Village of Son Rise. Families were awakened by the chirping of birds and the smell of cinnamon buns from Barley's corner bakery.
Every morning at 5:30, Mr. and Mrs. Barley baked fresh cinnamon rolls, sweet buns, and made fresh orange juice and coffee for the village fair workers at the end of town near the Peanut Bridge. At the entrance of town was a grand purple church with beautiful stained glass windows and a tall steeple. The shops, stores, and houses were painted royal colors of red, yellow, brown, orange, white and purple, and all the streets were made of cobblestones. All seemed well in the Village of Son Rise, but everything was not well. Not yet.