This cave, protected by the mighty roots of an old oak tree seems to live there since hundreds of years. As a child I could not keep myself off the dark place. Again and again I observed the sand before the cave entrance.

Now and then I found traces: something seemed to be dragged out there. Sometimes I found a few fir cones, sometimes tiny traces I could read. I knew: in the depth of the hill, dwells a people . The "small people", as it was called by my grandfather.