ye'll pull the bloom from off the broom
Janet had never been a great reader, not only because she had never been encouraged to be but because anything of interest or importance could so much better be told. But, when no one she knew knew what she wanted to know, it had been time to try the books.
Now she was wondering why she hadn't tried it earlier; she'd found what she wanted almost immediately, and had taken a little box and a flame-red blossom down to the beach to try it. Not the book, though; it was simple to remember, so there was no need.
Carefully, she laid her flower in the box's bed of sand, and carefully she began to cover it. It should not crush, the book had said, supported underneath by more sand. The rest she sifted through her fingers and watched some float away on the breeze while the rest covered every glimpse of color.
Then a shadow fell across where she knelt, and she looked up with a smile to see who it belonged to.
Now she was wondering why she hadn't tried it earlier; she'd found what she wanted almost immediately, and had taken a little box and a flame-red blossom down to the beach to try it. Not the book, though; it was simple to remember, so there was no need.
Carefully, she laid her flower in the box's bed of sand, and carefully she began to cover it. It should not crush, the book had said, supported underneath by more sand. The rest she sifted through her fingers and watched some float away on the breeze while the rest covered every glimpse of color.
Then a shadow fell across where she knelt, and she looked up with a smile to see who it belonged to.