The Gift Under Willow Fence — Every evening, Quin walked the pasture lane with a tin cup of clover water for the thirsty daisies by the creek. Read the full story →
Every evening, Quin walked the pasture lane with a tin cup of clover water for the thirsty daisies by the creek. No one saw him kneel beside the split-rail fence, hearing frogs plunk in the mud and smelling rain in the grass; that was the best part. Until one day, two rainbows rose over the clouds, and the lower one seemed to end at the crooked fence post he passed every night.
Because of that, Quin lifted the mossy stone at its foot. Under it waited a tiny brass box, cool and green at the corners. Because of that, he opened it, and a soft chiming tune floated over the fields; windows opened at the cottages, sheep came to the rails, and even the creek held its whisper.
Inside the lid, a scratched note said, For whoever waters what cannot ask. Quin smiled, poured his clover water anyway, and tucked the box back for the next quiet helper. If you follow the winding creek with your eyes, you might find the crooked post where the music stayed hidden in the rain-smelling grass.
