She was unsure why or how, but Vera was always drawn to the leaf edge. No matter which way she had set out to travel, her feet, as if pulled by magnets, always brought her here. And then she’d stand, looking out at a world of many colors and experience an odd mix of melancholy and pride that she was and always would be a green weevil.… Read the rest
The earnest innocence with which an entirely impractical gift was offered has long made The Little Drummer Boy a favorite of mine. I can imagine it going something like this:
He had the look of every boy who’s been roused from play and made ‘presentable’, his hair hastily tamed with limited success. He carried with him a small drum – a scrap of sheepskin on a simple wooden frame.… Read the rest