Selby’s Patchwork Pin — Under the root arch, Selby rubbed a tiny brass pin shaped like a dot of moon. He wanted it back on his old patchwork blanket before the night wind found the torn corner. Read the full story →
Under the root arch, Selby rubbed a tiny brass pin shaped like a dot of moon. He wanted it back on his old patchwork blanket before the night wind found the torn corner. The pin had held every bedtime story he had ever heard, and without it, the blanket flapped with a lonely snap-snap. Then a sneeze came from beyond the fern bank. “Brrr,” squeaked someone small.
Selby rolled out from his snug hollow, bumping over damp moss that smelled like rain and mushrooms. He carried the pin in his carved grin, past curled leaves and one acorn nearly as big as he was. At the blackberry bramble, a hedgehog sat tucked in a blanket full of loose, round patches. One patch had popped free, and cold air slipped through. Selby pressed his brass pin into the tear. It clicked softly, like a door closing just right.
The hedgehog patted the space beside him. “Stay till the wind hushes?” Selby missed his root arch, but the blanket made a small warm cave, and the acorn blocked the breeze. He had left to bring his pin home; instead, the pin had brought home to him. If you spot the little blanket dots, choose the one that might be holding every bedtime story Selby had ever heard.
