Romy’s Ten-Smile Bouquet — Under the first hot buzz of cicadas, Romy tied a paper tag to her handlebars: TEN BLOOMS OR BUST. Read the full story →
Under the first hot buzz of cicadas, Romy tied a paper tag to her handlebars: TEN BLOOMS OR BUST. She had dared herself to find ten different wildflowers before the big oak’s shadow touched the creek stones. Easy, she told the ants on the path, which was how you knew it was not easy at all. Her basket smelled like clover and warm straw as she pedaled away from the shady bench where everyone waited for the evening bike parade.
The secret is, the best flowers were never beside the path. Romy waded through tickly grass for a blue chicory, traded one shoelace ribbon to a thorny blackberry for a purple blossom, and slipped in mud to rescue a bent Queen Anne’s lace. At the bend, she found three little cousins making leaf crowns with no flowers at all. Romy counted her basket: seven, eight, nine. The tenth, a buttercup bright as a tiny lamp, nodded by her front wheel. She picked it, then tucked it into the smallest crown. “Don’t tell,” she whispered, grinning.
Back at the bench, her tag still said TEN BLOOMS OR BUST, but her basket carried nine and her heart carried a parade. The cousins rolled in behind her, crowns bobbing, and everyone cheered so loudly the cicadas paused. If you trace the winding path from the bicycle, you might spot where a tiny buttercup secret came home as something bigger than ten blooms.
