Beautiful

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There once was a little girl so lovely and gentle that everywhere she went flowers bloomed in her footsteps.  Her name, quite fittingly, was Bella.  Her special gift of flowers, and her gentleness and beauty, made her very well loved everywhere she went.  Everyone in the village smiled when they saw her coming down the street.  Old men resting on front porches would spring up and offer their arm to escort her wherever she was going, enjoying the fragrance of their lost youth as they slowly walked along.  Housewives would bring Bella inside and feed her delicious meals, smiling on her gentle gratitude and feeling their cares lift for a few moments.  The old mayor of the village, an avid gardener, often invited Bella to spend time in his gardens, and though his flowers bloomed more beautifully after her visits, his invitations were not wholly selfish.  The mayor knew that Bella had no mother and father, and he wanted to be sure that she was well looked after.

Bella was not aware of his concern.  She may have had no mother and father, but she did have three older brothers that she lived with in the old family house outside the village.  Her brothers were all strong, gifted men, and they loved Bella very dearly.  “You are the light of our life,” they told her, and Bella thought that they were very kind to her when she was such a useless thing.  What Bella wanted more than anything was to be as splendid and useful as her brothers.  Her oldest brother, Henry, was a talented doctor.  People said there was healing in his hands, and they called for him whenever there was illness in the village.  Her second brother, Gerald, was a genius chef.  He had invented no less than fifty-six scrumptious ways to cook potatoes, and all the poor people in the village (who had nothing but potatoes to cook) sang his praises.  Bella’s third brother, Joseph, was a master builder.  He had built half of the newer houses in the village, and everyone claimed that even a hurricane could not make one of his roofs leak.

Bella loved her brothers and was proud of them.  She wished so much that she could help them.  She could not go along with Henry on his visits to the sick.  He must always move in a hurry, and her legs were too short for keeping up.  Gerald, of course, cooked for the whole family, and though he loved to have Bella in the kitchen with him, she was too small to help with the chopping and measuring.  Sometimes Joseph would take Bella along to his worksites.  He called her his assistant, and she handed him tools, but she knew that he would have worked even faster if she weren’t there.  Bella tried to take on other tasks at home.  She made the beds, but she was so little she had to crawl on them to tuck in the corners, so they ended up wrinkly instead of smooth and neat.  She wanted to wash the windows and scrub the floors, but the buckets of water were too heavy for her.  One day she walked back and forth many times wetting a cloth and cleaning what she could.  She was so exhausted after several hours of this that she fell asleep before dinner.

Her brothers, tired after a long day of working, found trails of flowers all over the house and Bella curled up on her bed.  They smiled and tucked her in and ate their dinner together with the lovely smell of flowers in the air.  They felt so refreshed after an hour surrounded by the flowers that they each began to work on a little project to surprise Bella.  Henry took Bella’s favorite doll, which had recently been torn by the cat in the barn, and sewed her up with his healing hands.  Gerald baked a special cake, taking flavors from Bella’s flowers and blending them in a delicious sweetness.  Joseph built a little cradle for Bella’s doll to sleep in, with sturdy rockers and a beautiful carving of flowers all around the edges.

When Bella woke up in the morning, she saw the three gifts sitting beside her bed, her sweet doll, all mended and sleeping in her wonderful cradle next to the table with the tempting cake set out on a plate.  She felt so happy and so ashamed at the same time.  Happy to have such wonderful brothers who gave her such wonderful presents and ashamed that she had fallen asleep without being useful…again.

That day was Wednesday.  On Wednesdays, Bella always went to visit Widow Halloway, who was quite blind and loved to have company.  When Bella arrived at the widow’s house, the widow, as always, knew it was her before she even knocked on the door.  “Come in, Bella,” she called.  Bella smiled.  She wondered how the widow did it every time.  Of course, it was because the smell of the flowers trailing behind Bella came to the old woman’s sensitive nose, but Bella was so used to the flowers she hardly noticed them any more.  Bella had brought Gerald’s cake with her to share with the widow, but as she sat cutting it, she couldn’t help thinking again about how little she deserved such a wonderful gift.  “What is wrong, child?” asked the widow.  “You are sad today.”  Bella told her everything, looking sadly at the table so that she did not notice the old woman’s smile.  When she was done, Bella looked up.  The widow sat quietly for such a long time that Bella thought she must be very disgusted by Bella’s uselessness.  They ate the wonderful cake in silence until it was time for Bella to go home.  As Bella went to the door and said good-bye, the widow laid a gnarled hand on Bella’s shoulder and said quietly, “The important thing in life, Bella, is to think about what you can do and not about what you can’t.”

Bella thought about this all the way home.  She tried to think about what she could do while she listened to the busy bees visiting the flowers in her trail and sipping the nectar to take home for their honey.  She tried not to think about all the things she couldn’t do while she picked flowers from her footprints and left them on the door steps of several friends.  But that was just it, she thought, other than the flowers there was nothing special about her at all.  Then Bella stopped.  Why “other than the flowers”?  The flowers were one thing she could do.  She had been surrounded by them for so long that they did not seem particularly wonderful any more, but she knew that others enjoyed them.  Bella smiled.  The flowers were very beautiful.  Beauty was not as important as usefulness, but it was something.

So Bella used her gift on purpose.  She asked Henry who in the village was sick, and though she could not keep up with him on his rounds, she walked at her own pace to each house, leaving behind the gift of flowers at the bedside of each invalid.  She asked Gerald which flowers made the best flavorings and picked those especially to leave with housewives struggling to turn plain food into something tasty for their families.  She visited Joseph each time he finished a new house and spent time leaving behind a garden to surprise the new occupants.  Beauty, which of course is entirely useful in the things that really matter, went to work.  The people in the village had never smiled so often as they did that week.  Bella’s brothers had never been so effective in their work as they were that next month.  And Bella was happier than she had ever been.

The River

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Once upon a time there was a river that tumbled along between two forests.  The forest on the west side of its banks was old and shaggy with moss.  The forest on the east side was light and airy, with strong, graceful trees.  The river admired the separate beauty of each forest, but it was a passing admiration.  The river had so much to do each day, with his constant cycle of rushing toward and emptying into the ocean far away, not to mention gather waters from the mountains high above, that he had no time for looking around.

As time went on, the shaggy old forest began to grow dark.  Vines crept over the trees and grew up through the branches, keeping the sun from shining through down below.  The trees themselves creaked and groaned as if they were uncomfortable in their new clothing.  New animals came, animals that liked to hunt in the perpetual gloom.  The men and women who lived in that forest began to be pale from lack of sunlight, and their faces were set with fear.  The river noticed none of this.  Nothing could grow across his wide, rocky bed.  The sun shone down on him as much as it ever had.

At the same time, the forest on the other bank was thriving.  Men and women scattered seeds, and fruit trees sprang up among the smooth trunks of the older trees.  The new trees filled in the forest but did not crowd it, and their fruit attracted birds that sang among the branches.  The birds built their nests in the strong, graceful trees, and the men and women of the forest grew strong with so many sources of food and their faces wore contented smiles.  The river noticed none of this.  He could not hear the singing of birds over his own gurgling song, and, anyway, what difference could twittering birds possibly make to a mighty river?

Inevitably the time came that the men and women in the dark, fearful forest saw the men and women in the young, fruitful forest and wished that they could cross the river.  They first tried swimming, but the river’s strong current carried them away before they could cross its vast width.  Then they tried to make a path across by hurling stones into the water.  The stones, too were swept away.  Desperate, the men and women thought to empty the river.  They exhausted themselves with bowls and buckets, scooping out water and hurling it up under the trees.  The river never seemed any less, and all that water only made the vines grow more quickly and the forest turn even darker.  The men and women cursed the river and blamed it for all their misery.  The river scarcely noticed.  He had tumbled many rocks into the sea in his day and many men and animals had taken water from him.  Water always came back in the end.

But the river knew nothing of the determination of men.  The men and women hated the river now and were desperate to conquer it.  So they began gathering branches.  They discovered that the vines which made their lives miserable were very strong, strong enough to hold together even under great strain.  They tied together branches with vines and discovered a way to make boats.  Many boats failed  and many men and women failed in their attempts to guide them on the river’s rough waters, but they did not give up.  Eventually they learned.  Eventually they made it to the other side.  The river didn’t mind.  The men and women may have felt that they were taming him, but he rolled on, scarcely feeling their scurrying back and forth across his surface.

Now that the men and women could cross, it was not long before bridges were built.  Seeds of fruit trees were carried across the dark old forest and planted.  Vines were cut back to let them grow.  Seeds of vines made their way across the bridges as well.  The young, strong forest had to fight against the quick growing tendrils.  Men and women on both sides worked hard.  The forests changed.  They grew more alike.  The battle between the beauty of the wild and the cultivated beauty of men was being waged on both sides.  The river noticed the changes.  He admired the beauty of the struggle but only in passing.  Struggle was something he didn’t understand.  The sun shone, the storms came, he gathered in both the light and rains and the winds and rolled on.

As time went on, the men and women grew more advanced.  They built factories to burn the vines and mills to process all the new food they could grow.  The factories dumped filth into the river.  He did not like these changes, but he found he could sweep along, even if there were less fish than before and an unpleasant smell.  After a time the men and women got sick from drinking this new unpleasant water, and they found a way to change their factories, to make them cleaner.  The river was glad to be clean again, but he only thought about it in passing as he rushed toward the ocean.  The men and women built large wheels and put them into the river to use his strength to run new machines and make light in the darkness.  They blessed the river and bragged that they had made his strength their own.  The river thought no more of their blessings than he had of their curses.  He had pushed through obstacles much larger than their wheels and to him it was only a pause on his constant journey.

So the men and women went on growing.  They cut down the forests and replanted them.  They built monuments to their achievements.  They looked up at the stars and named them all.  They called the stars a new challenge and, forgetting about the river, they constructed ships to visit the stars.  And the river tumbled along between two forests, never noticing that no more men and women walked beneath the branches.

Let it out

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This one is a story I heard my husband telling my youngest daughter.  Short and sweet and not my own, but too charming not to write down and pass along.

Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived alone with her father.  She was a sweet girl who loved her father and helped him around the house, and everyone loved her and thought how beautiful and kind she was.  There was only one thing in the world this little girl loved (besides her father).  Stories.  In the morning when she woke up, she would ask her father for a story and listen with shining eyes.  At noon, when she served his lunch, she would ask for a story and listen while she went about her work.  At dinner time, she would ask for a story at the table and listen so hard she forgot about her food.  At bedtime, she would ask for a story and listen with rapt attention.

Many times her father, worn out from a long day of working in his shop, would ask the little girl to tell him a story instead asking for a new one, but she always replied, “No, father, I couldn’t.  Your stories are so wonderful.  You must do the telling.”  And she was so sweet and beautiful that he would put aside his weariness and tell her yet another story.

Well, things went on this way for a very long time, and it came about that both father and daughter began to notice something strange.  The little girl’s head was getting bigger.  At first it was just a little bigger, so that you could hardly notice it if you did not know her very well.  They thought nothing of it.  Little girls do, after all, grow up.  But her head was growing up much faster than the rest of her.  In time, it had swelled enough that even strangers would notice it.  The little girl was still very beautiful, so people mostly didn’t comment on it, but the little girl herself began to feel a bit worried.  Day after day and night after night, her head grew and grew and grew, until one day the most awful thing happened.

The little girl floated right up off the ground.

Floating off the ground might sound sort of fun, but it is very scary if you don’t know why it is happened and you cannot make it stop.  Unfortunately, the little girl had been outside picking flowers when the floating began, so there was really nothing to stop her going up and up and up.  As she floated past the apple tree, she grabbed hold of the topmost branches and held on for dear life.  That is where her father found her when he came home from his work.

A shouted conversation explained what had happened and her father began to climb the tree to fetch her down.

“Father, I’m so scared,” she said as he climbed.  “Please tell me a story to calm me down as I wait here.”

So he began to tell her a story, and as he did, her head swelled even more.  It swelled so much that she could not longer hold onto the branch, but was tugged free and began to float up into the sky.

“Daughter,” her father called.  “It is the stories!  You must let them out.  Tell me a story, daughter.  Tell me a story.”

And so she did.  Right there in the air as she drifted over the tree tops, she told all the stories she could think of.  Stories of pirates and dragons, of princesses and gypsies, of talking bears and crying flowers came pouring out of her mouth.  And as she talked, her head slowly shrank back to a normal size and she drifted down, down, until her feet were resting on the ground.  Now that she had started, she could not stop, though.  She talked and talked even as her father carried her home and tucked her up by the fire.  She talked and talked until all the stories in her head were finally out.  It was the best night of her father’s life.

Nothing ever changed how much the little girl loved stories.  In fact, her little adventure made a very good story itself.  But even though she still asked her father for stories every day, she would always take her turn telling the ones she had thought of when she was alone.  And the two of them lived very happily ever after.

Outside In

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The evening was cool and lovely, a slight breeze rustled the trees, making the leaves ripple and carrying that wonderful woodsy scent to where Angela stood in the doorway enjoying the sunset.

“Shut the door!  You’re letting the air conditioning out!” snapped Aunt Lou from the family room where the television was yammering.

Angela stepped out quickly, closing the door behind her.  Aunt Lou’s voice followed her.  “Don’t you stay out there in the dark!  Last night you came in covered in mosquito bites!”  Angela walked faster.

It was only a few steps through the neatly clipped yard to where the forest waited.  It crowded up against the wire fence, vines growing up the posts, branches leaning over and dropping leaves onto the lawn.  Angela slipped out the gate and took a deep breath.  Under the trees it was already night, cool and mysterious.  Angela made her way to her favorite spot, enjoying the way the old leaves crunched underfoot.  When she reached the decaying log, she sat in the hollow that was just the right size and leaned against the crooked branch that seemed made for her back.  Here she was completely alone but never as lonely as she was inside that house crowded with people.  The trees made companionable noises, creaking and rustling and scratching.

Angela let herself relax, trying to forget another long day of frantic vacation activity.   It had been a long string of guided tours and souvenir shops, of scuttling from air conditioned bus to stale overcrowded restaurant.  Angela wasn’t sure why Uncle John and Aunt Lou had chosen such a remote vacation spot if they never wanted to be outdoors.  Their idea of spending time in nature had been taking all the children down to the city pool, to lounge in chairs set up on fenced in concrete while the children splashed in overchlorinated water.

The crickets started up their nightly song.  Angela sighed.  She had better get back.  Aunt Lou would expect all the kids to be in bed soon.  “I wish I could sleep out here with you,” Angela whispered, running her hand over the smooth bole of a young tree.  She thought of the stifling room she shared with three of her young cousins.  Stella slept with a fan constantly running, and Izzy snored.  The hanging vines brushed Angela’s dark hair as she made her slow way back to the house.  “See you tomorrow night,” she said.

In the darkness, Angela couldn’t see the vines waving at her as the trees above leaned together to whisper.

It was hard to fall asleep in the tightly sealed house.  So it was that Angela was the only one awake, lying in bed wishing she could open a window, when the front door banged open.  Stella snorted and Izzy rolled over, mumbling, but no one seemed to have woken up.  Angela crept down the hall to see what had happened, her white nightgown fluttering around her in an unexpected breeze.  In the living room, moonlight was flooding in through the open door.  Leaves had blown in and were now littering the floor.  No one was around.  Angela thought what a strong wind it must have been to have blown open the door.  She slipped across, thinking to shut the door and lock it this time.  If Aunt Lou found out she hadn’t locked it when she came in, Angela would have to endure an hour’s lecture.  She sighed.  She was going to have to clean up all these leaves, too.  For a moment, Angela stood in the doorway enjoying the air.  Then she reached for the door.  Her hand found leaves instead.

Angela looked closer.  The door was wrapped in vines.  For a second, she just stared at the leaves.  Then a tendril of ivy swayed forward and caressed her cheek.

————————————————

When local authorities answered the 911 call, they had to cut their way through a thick stand of trees only to find a house that looked as if it had been abandoned years before.  The windows were all broken.  Flowering plants grew in the halls.  Vines tangled through the cabinets.  Dried leaves littered everything.  If it weren’t for the muffled sounds coming from the bedrooms, the emergency workers wouldn’t have known anyone was still there.  A family of mice skittered away as the workers moved down the hall.  On the beds, they found the family, wrapped up tight in vines thick as ropes.  They were all unharmed, though terrified.  The oldest girl still gripped the cell phone she had used to make the call, though it, too was now hidden by the leaves.

The family were all cut free and carried from the house.  They were already in the ambulances when the mother called out, “Wait!  Angela!  Where is Angela?”

“Who is Angela, ma’am?”

“My niece.  Her parents are gone.  It was our turn to have her this summer.  She was in the room with the other girls.”

But no one had seen Angela.  And even a thorough search of the house and woods turned up no sign.  The police eventually concluded that she had run away before the unexplainable “event”.

The “event” was something no one wanted to talk about.  Certainly no one ever visited the quickly rotting house now surrounded by forest.  But from time to time, adventurous kids came close, and sometimes they came home with stories of a ghost who lived among the vines and branches.  A ghost with a white dress and long dark hair.

Just one moment

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Christopher sat by the sea and waited.

It was cold and only got colder as the moon slowly made its way across the night sky, but Christopher didn’t move.  The rhythmic crashing of the waves was like a soothing lullaby, but Christopher didn’t fall asleep.  He couldn’t.  This was his last chance.

The sun had been setting when Christopher had arrived at the shore.  The sand was warm under his bare feet then.  He had watched the sun sink into the water, spreading liquid gold across the waves.  Gold wasn’t what he needed, though.  There was no magic in gold.  So Christopher waited.

The moon had risen behind him and now it, too, was sinking toward the sea.  It wouldn’t be long now.

Christopher thought of his mother at home.  He pictured her pale face, the thin hands clutching at the blankets, the wracking cough that left her weak and trembling.  The doctors had said there was nothing more to be done.  They had said that it was time to prepare for the end.  But Christopher knew better.  He knew there was always something to be done.  He knew there was no way to prepare for the end of the world.

Christopher gripped the wooden bowl in his hands.  It wasn’t very large, but he knew it would be enough if he could carry it steady and not spill anything.  He would carry it steady.  It hadn’t been possible to get a larger bowl without being seen, and it had been necessary to slip out unseen.  Aunt Nora would never have let him come down here alone.  Aunt Nora said the shore was dangerous for young boys.  She said there was no such thing as magic and believing in it would only get you hurt.  But Christopher knew better.  He knew that magic was very real.  He knew that believing was dangerous, but not believing was even more dangerous.

The moon was almost to the water now.  Christopher stood up.  His back was stiff, and his legs felt tingly from sitting still for so long.  He crept toward the water, gasping a little at the cold when the first wave rushed across his toes.  When the water began to rise as high as his knees, Christopher stopped.  He clenched his jaw to stop it from knocking his teeth together.  With all his might he stared out at the moon, trying not to blink at all.  The moment would only come once.  He must not miss it.

When it happened, it was even more beautiful than Christopher had expected.  The glowing white disc touched the edge of the dark water.  The silver light flowed out instantly, its path leading straight to the shallows where Christopher stood.  With a smooth motion, barely daring to breathe, Christopher dipped his bowl into that shining stream, gathering up the magic he knew it contained.  Just as quickly as it had come, the magic was gone.  The moon sank further.  The glowing path spread across the waves.  It was only a reflection now.  A reflection of a reflection.  And then it was gone, and Christopher was left to walk home in the dark.

It didn’t seem dark to him, though.  Christopher did not think he had ever felt so light.  Walking home, slowly, carefully, placing each step cautiously, arms aching from carrying the bowl without the slightest tilt, he felt better than he had felt in weeks.  In his hands he held the answer.  At last, after so much helpless waiting, he was doing something useful.

When he reached the house, all the lights were out except one.  He knew that was the light kept burning low next to his mother’s bed.  Christopher knew just how to open that window.  He knew just how to crawl inside it without making any noise.  It was a bit harder with the bowl, heavy with its load of magic, but Christopher made it.  He didn’t have any choice.

At last he stood by the side of the bed, looking down at his mother with her labored breathing.  A glass was on the table by the lamp, empty now.  Christopher set the bowl beside it.  Looking at the water in the bowl, he couldn’t help but feel a moment of doubt.  All that shining silver was gone.  It looked like ordinary water now.  Not even very clean water.  But Christopher knew better.

He looked at the glass, but he knew that his mother would never be able to drink.  Instead, he took the cloth that was laid across her forehead.  It was hot to the touch.  Quickly he dipped it into the bowl of magic.  With gentle hands, he pressed the magic to her forehead.

Then Christopher sat by his mother’s side and waited.

The Scarecrow and the Vulture

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Once there was a scarecrow, and he was very good at his job.  His arms and legs were stuffed in a very realistic way, so that he looked like a farmer looking over his fields.  His face was drawn in a ferocious scowl that would frighten away all but the bravest of birds.  And for those who were not scared away by his mere presence, he knew all the tricks.  He could lean off his post just enough that the wind caught his shirt and spun him about dizzily.  He could shift his weight on the sturdy post  that held him up, causing it to creak and grown in a terrifying way.  No crow ever stood up to the creak and spin.  The fields were safe, the corn grew tall, and the scarecrow found great satisfaction in a job well-done.

But he was lonely.

The problem with being very good at scaring everyone away is that it leaves you out in the corn alone.  Even the farmer didn’t visit often because he knew the scarecrow was taking good care of the fields without him.  Scarecrow tried to ignore this feeling, but it would creep up on him at night, when he was hanging there under the moon, and he couldn’t help but wish for someone to talk to.

Then one day a new kind of bird came flying into the corn.  Scarecrow saw him coming, of course, and straightened up.  His ferocious face put on its most terrifying scowl.  He rocked forward causing the post to creak loudly.  This caught the new bird’s attention, but instead of flying away in alarm, the bird turned toward the scarecrow and flew straight in his direction.  Scarecrow could now see the bird more clearly, and what an ugly bird he was.  His feathers were black but he was much too big to be a crow.  His neck was long and bent in a strange way.  His head was red and knobbly.  In some ways he was as scary looking as the scarecrow.  Seeing that the crooked old bird was not scared off by creaking and flapping, Scarecrow leaned forward as far as he could.  The wind caught him and spun him in circles, his outstretched arms swinging crazily.  The ugly bird never even hesitated.  He flew straight up to Scarecrow and landed at his feet, looking up patiently.  As soon as Scarecrow stopped spinning, the bird flew up and perched on Scarecrow’s right arm.

Scarecrow did not know what to do.  He had never seen a bird that wasn’t afraid of him before.  He had never failed to scare off anything he put his mind to scaring, and he felt rather guilty about how nice it was to have someone sit next to him unafraid.  He put on his fiercest frown.  The strange bird stared at him a moment before looking away out over the corn.  Scarecrow tipped this way and that, making awful groaning noises.  The bird calmly began to clean his feathers.  Scarecrow was shocked.  Who was this bird?  He tried to think of a new trick, something he’d never done before that might be frightening to this new strange kind of bird.

“It won’t work, you know,” said the bird.  “I’ve watched people for a long time.  I know you aren’t really one of them.”

Scarecrow was stunned.  Not only was this bird not afraid of him, he wasn’t afraid to watch real people and spoke of them as if they were old friends.  There would be no getting him out of the corn.  Scarecrow drooped.  If he couldn’t scare the bird away, he would eat the corn.  Then Scarecrow would be a failure.

“Don’t worry,” the bird croaked.  “I don’t eat corn.”

Scarecrow cocked his head to the side.  A bird that didn’t eat corn?  He had never heard of such a thing.  This must be some kind of trick.  If he didn’t eat corn, what did he eat?  The bird didn’t volunteer any more information.  Scarecrow’s curiosity grew.  Finally, he knew he had to ask.  He had often thought he must have a voice, though he had never had any occasion to use it.  It took a few tries before he creaked out, “What do you eat?”

“Meat,” said the odd bird.  “But only if someone else has killed it for me.”

Scarecrow thought about this for a long time.  He had never heard of such a thing.  Of course, he had to know more, so he asked.  Soon the strange bird was telling him all about it, not just what kinds of things he ate but also about all the places he had traveled and things he had seen.  Before Scarecrow knew it, the moon was up and the night was all around them.  Scarecrow had never known time to go by so fast.  When the bird fell silent, it was quiet and dark.  Normally, this would have been the time when Scarecrow felt sad and alone, but tonight he had so much to think about that he had no room for sadness and the warm pressure of the bird on his arm reminded him that he wasn’t alone.

In the morning, the big bird stretched his wings and prepared to fly away.

“Where are you going?” asked Scarecrow.

“Wherever I can,” said the bird.  “I never stay long in one place.  No one wants a vulture around.  We’re not exactly pretty to look at.”

“Scarecrows aren’t pretty to look at either,” said Scarecrow.  “But I always stay in one place.”

“You haven’t got to eat,” said the vulture.

“True,” said Scarecrow sadly.  He was sorry that his new friend was going away.  He didn’t want to be all alone again.  A little sound escaped him, kind of like a gulp and a sniffle combined.

“What was that?” asked the vulture.

“Nothing,” said Scarecrow, but his voice didn’t work right and it came out more like, “Nnnnkin.”

“I don’t think I know what Nnnkin means,” said the vulture.

Scarecrow couldn’t answer that.

“I suppose you are ready for me to be gone,” said the vulture.  “Thank you for a pleasant night.  It’s been a while since I had someone to talk to.”

“No,” said Scarecrow.

“No?” asked the vulture.  “Do you mean no, it was not a pleasant night or no, you are not ready for me to be gone?”

“No, I am not ready for you to be gone,” said Scarecrow.  “I have never had anyone to talk to before.”

“Never?” asked the vulture in surprise.

“Never,” said Scarecrow sadly.

The vulture looked at Scarecrow for a long time.  “Well,” he said finally.  “I really do need to find something to eat.”

Scarecrow just nodded his fierce head.

“But I suppose I can come back here tonight to sleep.  If you really don’t want me to go.”

Scarecrow looked up hopefully.  His face was still scowling, but it was a very happy scowl.

“All right then,” said the vulture, and off he flew.

All day long, Scarecrow waited, afraid that the vulture would not come back.  But just as the sun began to set, the vulture returned.  He told Scarecrow of all his adventures that day searching for food.  Scarecrow listened and nodded in the wind.

And so the unlikely pair became fast friends.  Every morning, Vulture would set off to look for food, and every night he would fly back to Scarecrow with a new story.  Scarecrow would spend his days scaring off all the other birds, but he never felt lonely because he knew that at night, his friend would be along and he would have someone to talk to and something to think about all through the dark hours.

And the farmer, passing through the corn field at dusk, would see the vulture perched on the scarecrow’s arm and chuckle to himself.  “There’s someone for everyone,” he said as he went in to the supper his wife had made.  “There’s someone for everyone.”

 

 

Three Little Pumpkins

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It’s fall.  Around here that’s like a party wrapped in fresh-baked cookies wrapped in a surprise package in the mail.  We’re kind of giddy with happiness.  It also means the three-year-old is home alone with Mommy while the big kids go off to school all day.  That means lots of “Tell me a story, Mommy, not a book, tell me a story wif your mouf.”  Which leads to me desperately casting my eyes around the house and seizing inspiration from whatever fall decoration I see.  Which leads to the following series of fall-inspired stories made up on the fly (read: short and of questionable sense).  This one turned Halloween-y without my even planning it.  But it kept her happy.  Or at least, happy enough to nod in approval and immediately ask for another story.  

Once upon a time there were three little pumpkins, picked with love and placed in a row on the front porch.  The first pumpkin was bumpy and lumpy and bigger than the others.  He liked to brag that when he was carved up, he would be the scariest pumpkin that ever was seen on Halloween night.  The second little pumpkin was short but fat with a twisty stem on top.  He liked to brag that when he was carved up, he would be the silliest pumpkin that ever was seen on Halloween night.  The third little pumpkin was little and smooth and perfectly round.  She didn’t like to brag because she didn’t know much about Halloween night, but she was sure that she could never be  very scary or very silly.  She was only good at being little and smooth and round and cute.  The other pumpkins smiled and nodded and said they were sure she would be a very nice pumpkin, if not as wonderfully scary and silly as they were.

Carving night finally came, and a wonderful night it was.  The three pumpkins were picked up by their three children, who quickly set to work.  The first little pumpkin got his wish, as his boy carved him into a terrible, scary face.  He had jagged teeth and horrible eyes, and when he was finished and a candle placed inside him, even the boy who carved him felt a little scared and went inside and left him alone.  The first little pumpkin chuckled but he also felt a little lonely to be left all alone.

The second little pumpkin got his wish, too, as his boy carved him into the silliest face you ever did see.  He had a crookedy mouth and a wacky nose, and when he was finished and a candle was placed inside him everyone laughed and laughed, and even people walking by on the street pointed and giggled.  The second little pumkin chortled with pride but he also felt a little embarrassed with everyone laughing at him.

The third little pumpkin didn’t know what to wish for as her little girl carved her face.  She got a sweet little smile and a button nose, and when she was finished and a candle placed inside her, she was the cutest little pumpkin you ever did see, and her little girl loved her and insisted on placing her by her bed as a nightlight every night.  The third little pumpkin smiled to herself and tried to glow as brightly as she could.

When Halloween night came the three pumpkins were proudly displayed on the front porch again.  Soon children began to come, children of all sizes and shapes, in costumes that were scary or silly or cute.  The big, bold children would come up on the porch, slightly bored and wondering if they were getting too old for playing dress up.  Then they would see the first little pumpkin’s terrifying face and shiver as a little fear ran down their spines and think maybe they weren’t so very grown up after all.  The excited, racing children would dash up on the porch, rattling their bags of candy, anxious to be done with this so they could get home and start gobbling it up.  Then they would see the second little pumpkin and double over with laughter and be reminded how much fun it is to walk around and be silly in the near-dark with your friends.  The littlest children, trick-or-treating for the first time would come shyly up on the porch, clinging to parents’ hands and feeling embarrassed to ask for candy.  Then they would see the third little pumpkin glowing so sweetly in the darkness and feel a little bit of courage glow in their own hearts.

So it was that the three little pumpkins sat in a row on the front porch long into the night on Halloween, casting their scary and silly and sweet light out over the front lawn, each so different but each thinking the same thing.  What a wonderful Halloween it had been.

 

The Way Home

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Once there was a girl named Elise who had no home.  She had a place where she lived.  In was a long low building made out of bricks, she slept each night in a tiny room next to many more tiny rooms full of girls like herself.  In the day, she worked hard carrying water from the stream up to the giant house that loomed over everything and pulling weeds in the vast gardens and scraping moss off the stones of the high walls that encircled her world.  Elise had spent every day for as long as she could remember inside those walls and every night on that small hard bed.  But that was not a home.

Elise knew what a home was supposed to be.  She had a picture in her head, almost like something she had dreamed, a picture of a warm circle of firelight and a table with bowls and steaming soup and a woman’s face smiling as she cut a loaf of bread.  Elise did not know where this picture came from, but she was sure it was real, and she wanted with all her heart to find that cozy room and that gentle, smiling face.

Early one morning, Elise woke up from a particularly beautiful dream of home.  She crept out of bed and went outside.  She was happy to see that it was still dark.  All of the workers woke up at the first sign of light, but right now Elise had a few minutes to be all alone.  Suddenly Elise was aware of a soft glow coming from over by the nearest wall.  It wasn’t the golden glow of the sun rising, and it wasn’t the flickering glow of a fire.  It was a warm pinkish glow.  Elise couldn’t help herself; she walked quickly toward the light.

The wall loomed above her when she finally saw what was causing that glow.  Eight enormous pink balloons were floating down next to the wall, each carrying a package.  An excited voice caused Elise to duck behind a tree.  She peeked out to see two men untying all the packages from the balloon strings.  As soon as the last string was untied, the pink balloons floated up and up again.  The men immediately turned and began carrying all the packages up to the big house, but Elise could not take her eyes off those pink globes.  They drifted high, casting their soft light in gentle circles on the wall, then they were over the wall and soaring away, out of sight.  Soon even the last faint light was gone.  Then Elise realized that the sun was coming up, and she turned and ran so that she wouldn’t be late for her chores.

But all that day Elise thought of the balloons.  She wondered who sent them.  She wondered what was in the packages tied to their strings.  Most of all, she wondered where they went when they floated away over that wall.  How she wished that she could float away like those balloons!  To rise higher and higher , to feel the wind on her face as she left the earth behind, to finally see what was on the other side  of that wall.

For many nights after that, Elise went out to look for the balloons, but they did not come back.  She began to wonder if she had dreamed the whole thing.  That feeling, though, that yearning for freedom, would not go away.  All day long, she stared at the walls as she did her work.  She found it harder and harder to sleep at night.  Dreams were not enough any more.

So Elise decided to act.  Maybe the balloons weren’t coming back again, but they had come once, and that was proof that something was out there.  She would climb the wall.  She had experience climbing it halfway to clean off the ever growing moss.  The wall was high, but she was sure she could make it if she wasn’t caught.  Elise packed up her spare dress and a little food she had sneaked from the kitchen.  She tied the bundle over her shoulders, and she waited until the darkest part of the night.

Elise had been so sleepless lately that she was very good at sneaking around in the dark.  She crept toward the wall without making a sound.  She had chosen to climb in the spot where she had seen the balloons come over the wall.  It just seemed right.  Finding small holes for her fingers and toes, Elise began to creep up the wall.

She was about halfway up when she noticed the glow.  Her heart began to pound.  The balloons were coming back.  Tonight of all nights!  Soon the men would be coming to get the packages.  They were sure to see her.  Before she could even move, the first pink balloon drifted over the wall.  Elise clung there, unmoving.  There was nothing else to do.

There were only three balloons this time, and they were all the way on the ground before Elise heard the voices coming.  The men grumbled a bit about the late hour.  Elise closed her eyes and held on, barely daring to breath.  She counted the seconds.  The men were directly below her now.  They were untying the packages.  Soon they would turn to go.  Elise began to hope that she wouldn’t be noticed.  The balloons began to rise beneath her.

Then she heard a shout.  “Hey!  You!  Hey, guys, there’s someone on the wall!  You, now, come down from there!”

In that most terrifying of moments, Elise laughed.  She always laughed when she was afraid.  The fear just seemed to gurgle up in her throat until some came tumbling out, and then the fear inside was less.  The laugh unfroze her muscles and she started climbing again.  The balloons cast their warm glow on her as the drifted in her direction.

Something brushed against Elise’s foot and tumbled away.  The men below were throwing up a rope, hoping to catch her leg and pull her down.  They must have been too big to climb.  Elise laughed again and moved a bit higher.  Then the rope touched her foot again.  This time it did not fall away.  It was around her ankle.  A big tug almost made her fall.  She kicked her leg as hard as she could, hoping the rope would fall.  It stayed.  Holding on with one hand, Elise reached down with her other to pull off the rope.  She was able to get one finger into the loop and pull.

Then several things happened at once.  The loop of rope slipped off her foot, causing her to gasp in relief.  Then the rope heaved in her hand before she could let go.  It was just enough to wrench her other hand away from the wall.  Elise was falling.  She had about two seconds to imagine herself hitting the ground far below before she flopped onto something soft and round.  She was facing down, looking at the men below her, but something was pushing against her stomach.  Pushing her up.  The pink glow left no doubt as to what it was.

Curling herself around the balloon, Elise held on as it floated higher.  She held on as it drifted over the wall.  She held on as she watched the trees go by beneath her, as she crossed a river, as she saw the wide world that was outside the wall.  She held on until the three balloons slowly came to rest outside a small cottage with a red roof and a green door.

The sun was coming up as the door opened.  “I knew if we kept sending the balloons, one day they would bring you back to us.”

Elise was so tired from her long journey she could barely see the warm, smiling face as a pair of arms lifted her off of the balloon.  She was only just aware of a warm fire in the fireplace as she was carried inside and tucked into a bed.  Was that soup and baking bread that she smelled?

In that soft cozy bed, she drifted into sleep, and she didn’t have any dreams at all, but the best dream of all was waiting for her when she awoke.

3, 2, 1

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Tommy was miserable.

It was bad enough that he had to leave his old school and his old friends, pack up all his stuff, and go live someplace he’d never even seen.  Now it was worse.  Standing and looking at the place he was supposed to live, he thought he might cry.

The lighthouse stood out on an island, its glass top winking in the sunlight, its highest tip pointing straight at the sky.  All around were rocks and waves.  Tommy couldn’t see anything else.  Who would be his friends here?  What would he do?  It would just be him and his parents and some seagulls.

“It will be an adventure,” his mom said from behind him.  “You love adventures.”

She had been saying that over and over for the last three weeks.  Tommy didn’t think he believed her.  An adventure?  It was so quiet here he felt bored already.

As they rowed the small boat across the water to the lighthouse island, Tommy looked up at the white shape towering above him.  There were no windows anywhere except at the very top where the light would shine out.  He imagined himself living in the dark down below.  Maybe he could pretend it was a cave for him to explore.  If only it weren’t so small.  Tommy sighed.

They got out of the boat and hauled their suitcases up to where a set of stairs wound around the outside of the  lighthouse.  Tommy’s eyes widened.  “You mean we have to carry our stuff up there?” he asked, not caring that he sounded very whiny.  His mom just nodded and started up.  Tommy muttered under his breath but he did the same.  Panting for air, he pictured himself climbing these steps every day.   He imagined hauling groceries up here.  His mom always made him unload the groceries.  Tommy shuddered.  This place was going to be so much work there wouldn’t even be time to play.

Finally they got to a door.  They were very high up now.  Tommy’s mom turned to look at the view.  “See!” she raised her voice a bit over the wind.  “It’s beautiful.  Already an adventure.”

Tommy turned and looked.  The ocean looked flat from up here and stretched on forever.  Even from this height, Tommy couldn’t see any other houses on the land behind them.  He opened the door and went inside.

“Your room is just over there,” said his mom.  “There’s a button next to it that opens it up.”

Tommy stared at her.  A button?  He pressed it.  The door slid open like it was on an elevator.

Tommy looked at his room.  It was very small.  He set his suitcase on the narrow bed and turned around.  If he stretched out his arms, he could almost touch all the walls.  A small desk was next to the bed.  A thin plastic thing was attached, which looked like it would fold down and be a place to sit.  The desk had a computer on it, but it was strapped down.  Tommy stared at the straps.  Did this place get earthquakes?  That would be an adventure but not really the kind of adventure that Tommy liked.  Everything in this room was white.  Tommy imagined laying on that tiny bed and staring at the white ceiling.

“You’d better put your things in the closet,” said his mom from the doorway.  “There isn’t much time.  Then come down the hall to the last door.  Your father and I will be waiting for you.”

Not much time?  Tommy stared at the empty doorway after she left.  What was the hurry?  What were they possibly going to do here?  He supposed at some point they had to turn on the light, but it was still hours until nightfall.  Maybe his mom had made a cake or something to celebrate the move.  Well, okay.  Tommy liked cake.  He unzipped his suitcase and began unloaded all of his favorite things.  When he opened the closet, he saw that it was already half full.  Strange clothes, all one piece, shirt and pants, in solid colors.  Big clunky boots.  A pair of gloves.  Tommy wondered if his new school required a uniform.  He shuddered to think of what kind of school it must be if it wanted kids dressed like that.  Quickly, Tommy buried the weird new things under his own clothes.  He stuck a few books in the bottom, along with his baseball and glove.  His collection of baseball cards went lovingly on the top shelf.  They just barely fit.  It was a good thing he hadn’t brought any more stuff.  No wonder his mom only let him pack one suitcase.

Shoving the suitcase under the bed, Tommy went back out into the short hall.  He could see three doors just like his on the opposite wall and one down at the very end.  That door had a button beside it, too.  The elevator doors didn’t seem too strange when Tommy realized there would be no room to open a normal door, but the tight space made him think of long winters and being stuck in one little place with nothing to do.  He jabbed the door button a little harder than was necessary.

When the door opened, Tommy froze.  The room in front of him looked like something out of a movie.  A whole panel of buttons and computer screens took up the wall in front of him, with a window above it looking out at the view.  Three built-in seats were in front of this panel.  His mother and father were in two of them, busily working on something on the screens in front of them.  They looked up when Tommy stepped in.

“Well, son,” said Tommy’s father.  “What do you think?”

“I…what is this?” Tommy asked.

“The control room,” said his father.  “Have a seat son, and we’ll tell you all about it.”

Tommy sat down in the empty chair.  His mother reached over and buckled some straps around him just like she used to do when he was little.

His father explained.  They had been chosen to explore a possible location for a colony on a new planet.  This “lighthouse” was their ship.  It was all top secret, so they had not been allowed to tell him before in case he accidentally let something slip.  No one was anywhere near here, so they should be able to get away unseen.  With any luck, they would be gone for a year, but when they came back it would be to put together a team of colonists and lead them back.  In five years, they could be living on a new planet.

By this time Tommy was grinning.

His mother grinned back.  “See, I told you it would be an adventure,” she said.  “You love adventures.”

“Hold on tight, everyone,” said his father.  “Here we go.”