“Sure,” the marabou stork said, rubbing his foot against his leg in anticipation. “I’ll deliver the baby for you.”
As the man walked away, an insidious cackle erupted from the stork. He’d always wanted a child of his own.
in view of trees
“Imagine what the view would be like if you cut down these trees.”
She smiled, she’d heard all this a dozen times before. “And here I thought the view was the trees.”
puddles of inspiration
“Puddles and mud and tiny bird footprints,
silt dusted leaves and ripples of sunlight.”
The poet felt his poetry muscles growing warm.
His daughter waited until he turned to dig out a pencil and paper before splashing through his inspiration in her red rubber boots. She smiled up at him as his eyebrows shot skywards. “You comin’ in?” she asked.
He could not deny the temptation. “Maybe I should write children’s books instead,” he said, and hopped right in.
beards of moss
The old man’s beard moss hung heavy on the trees. I almost didn’t recognize the forest at first. “What happened to you?” I asked.
The eldest tree sighed, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his regret, or maybe just the moss. “Don’t ever make fun of a wizard’s beard,” was all he would tell me.
the view from below
The little mushroom peeked around his big brother’s leg. “Is that it?”
“Yep. This is the Surface. It’s a weird place, lots of light and space, but most of it is empty because nobody likes leaving the ground. Kind of like us.”
The little mushroom sucked in his breath as a shadow flew over the sky. “What is that?”
“That’s a bird. They leave the ground whenever they like, and go soaring through all that empty space.”
“Someday I’m gonna do that,” said the little mushroom.
The eldest said nothing, hearing something in his little brother’s voice that made him think the boy might.
a creepy forest tale
The forest looked down the hill at the cabin. A curl of smoke wafted from the chimney.
“Legend has it,” said a sapling in a hushed voice, “that the human who lives there keeps a stack of CORPSES on his porch.”
The fir seedling listened, shivering with a delicious fear. “So that’s why there’s always ghosts coming out of the chimney!”
the village children’s project
Most people told them it would never work. The rest shook their heads and said nothing. “At least they are staying out of trouble,” was muttered thrice a day.
The kids ignored them and kept on working, testing ideas and calculating for every possibility. They carved grooves in the rocky surface to channel the wind and harness its power. They brought in soil to grow food on the top and in every crevice. The waves and the tides powered the engine.
When they were finished, the children invited everyone in the village to the launch. A handful of non-related adults showed: the type who liked to laugh at another person’s failure. They were disappointed.
The mammoth barge slipped into the sea, looking like any other cliff on the Bay. It puttered away under its own power, with a hundred cheering children on board, ready for adventure.
raising the moon
She climbed into the boughs of the tree, her heart hammering with each gust of wind. “Don’t look down,” she said to herself, but she didn’t have to look to know how far away the ground must be. “I can do this.”
In time she reached the highest branch. She mustered the dregs of her courage and pointed her wand to the sky, whispering the words she’d been practicing for months.
At first nothing happened. The girl clenched her eyes closed and concentrated, whispering the words again.
One by one the stars came out and peered down at her. She opened her eyes and smiled when she saw them. With another flick of her wands, she drew the moon up from the horizon.
The night creatures breathed a sigh of relief, for a moonrise fairy had come at last.
the wind that stole the pretty leaves
The goblin child sat on a tree root and pouted. “That wasn’t very nice!” he shouted at the wind.
The wind whooshed a little.
“It was greedy you know! You stole all of the pretty leaves and now there isn’t any left for anyone else!”
The wind gave a mournful whistle.
“Of course I forgive you.” The goblin child sighed. “But you have to learn to control your temper.”
Jennifer Shelby 