Junia Waits for Sunfire — Each evening, when the ravine smelled of warm leaves and peppery pollen, Junia counted the shut daisies around her perch. Read the full story →
Each evening, when the ravine smelled of warm leaves and peppery pollen, Junia counted the shut daisies around her perch. She wanted the sunfire daisy to open, the one old swifts said flashed gold for only one breath. Every day she counted, blink by blink, while beetles clicked below and the vines curled tighter.
Until one day, a blue-glass moth burst from the shadows, its wings buzzing like a tiny drum. “Thread-snake!” it squeaked. Because of that, Junia left her counting place and plunged through the flower stems, snapping dry twigs behind her. Because of that, the thorny vine maze shook awake, wrapping loops across every path back.
Junia almost shoved through, but the closed daisy brushed her wing—cool, patient, not ready. She waited one blink, then two. The vine loosened with the breeze. Finally, she slipped the moth through a gap just as the sunfire daisy opened, spilling gold over leaf and feather. Next time you spot the big flower at Junia’s feet, can you keep still long enough to catch its one bright breath?
