Monday, April 20, 2009

Springtime Chill

The skirt smelled faintly of dandelions, a smell that Barbara would always remember as the smell of victory. After years of finding that he'd led the neighborhood children through her precious rhododendrons, she'd devised a trap he couldn't resist. It hurt a little inside, remembering the taunts of "carrot top" as a child, but the soft, magical wool and pom-poms of victory soothed her pain.

That damned Easter bunny would never hide another egg from her again, no sir.

1 comment:

Celia Pleete said...