Tansy’s Moon Keepsake — Under the zigzagging party lights, Tansy tiptoed along the garden path with a watering can bumping her knee and a dented moon ornament swinging from one finger. Read the full story →
Under the zigzagging party lights, Tansy tiptoed along the garden path with a watering can bumping her knee and a dented moon ornament swinging from one finger. The ornament was chipped, scratched, and missing half its glitter, which made Tansy like it best. It had been the first thing she ever hung without a ladder, and it still smelled faintly of pine sap and peppermint string.
The poinsettias by the fence had curled their leaves after the lantern parade, so Tansy gave each root a quiet drink. Glug-glug, wink-wink went the can, splashing her striped sock. “No bowing,” she whispered when one flower lifted as if to cheer. She tucked the moon ornament on the lowest branch nearby, just in case the thirsty plants wanted something shiny to look at.
Then the twisty little moon rang. Not loud—more like a spoon tapping cocoa foam. From inside its hollow curve, three silver drops rolled out and dotted every poinsettia center with tiny stars. Tansy laughed so hard she nearly watered her boot. The old ornament had been saving shine for anyone who gave a drink with nobody watching, and next time you spot that moon in her hand, dare yourself to hear its cocoa-soft ring.
