The Spoon That Led Nessa — A bent silver spoon tapped Nessa’s chest with every step: tink, tonk, tink. Read the full story →
A bent silver spoon tapped Nessa’s chest with every step: tink, tonk, tink. She had polished it until it shone like a moon sliver, tied it among her parade beads, and marched down the festival street as if she were carrying a royal trumpet. Warm sugar smoke curled from the nut cart. Paper confetti stuck to her feathered hooves. “No wiggling,” she whispered to the spoon, which immediately wiggled.
The flower sellers braided daisies into her forelock. Bell ponies clopped behind her, their tiny chimes going ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling. Nessa turned left when the spoon bumped right, turned right when it bumped left, and somehow ended up in the middle of a chalk circle shaped like a giant soup bowl.
Then the soup musicians popped from behind the bunting with pots, ladles, and tubas. The spoon was not a spoon at all, but the missing conductor’s baton from last year’s Silly Supper March. Nessa raised her chin, the spoon gave one bossy tink, and the whole street played along. If you spot the bright little circle at her neck, you’ll know why Nessa stood exactly where the tink, tonk, tink belonged.
