.........when the moon comes up at night and catches the cockerel at the top of the church spire the magic will stop working.
	The early morning bus rumbled by, carrying some sleepy-eyed people to work, and others looking as bright as buttons as they made their way to the market in the town.
Benson, the ginger cat, strolled down the narrow one-way lane.  He stopped to sniff the cool air and listen to the quietness.  This was his favourite hour in Cinder Lane - no one to shoo him away, no cars to dodge, no big angry machines that collected the town's rubbish and best of all - no dogs!
	Across the lane the children were still outside playing in the school playground.  Benson looked up the lane to make sure it was safe to cross, and then padded across the narrow road and sat down on the pavement to watch the children playing behind the wire fence.
There were roof tops of all shapes and sizes - some with chimney pots standing tall and others small.  Wisps of smoke were beginning to curl from some of them as the town rubbed the sleep from it eyes and gently woke up.  As the sun rose, its rays began to catch the beautiful church with its huge proud spire soaring into the sky like a space rocket waiting to take off.
	Benson strolled past  Mr Elvic's workshop stopping briefly to check that the milk was still there.  Just a few more steps and he was at Bob's tiny cottage, which stood at the end of the lane where the main road ran.

 

Benson loved the workshop.  He sniffed the familiar faint oily smells, and yesterday's fumes from the big black grinding machine still lingered in the air.