Cress Counts the Almosts — At the high bend of the eucalyptus, where the bark smelled like rain and lemon peel, Cress invented a game called Almost. Read the full story →
At the high bend of the eucalyptus, where the bark smelled like rain and lemon peel, Cress invented a game called Almost. She pressed one paw to the smooth trunk and looked for things that were nearly something else: a knot that was almost a moon, a peeling stripe that was almost a river, three leaves that were almost a bird turning in the wind. Her joey, Wisp, tucked in close, blinked up at every rustle.
“Almost,” Cress whispered, and the word felt round in her mouth. The game grew by itself. A shadow became almost a fish. A curled leaf became almost a sleeping ear. Even the pale space between two branches became almost a doorway to a quieter sky. Cress counted slowly, letting each almost-shape stay mysterious before naming the next.
Then Wisp patted her chest with one tiny paw and squeaked, “Almost!” Cress looked down. In Wisp’s eyes, her nose was almost a pebble, her ears almost two soft suns, her arms almost a living branch. The game had been looking back. Next time you find the joey tucked beneath Cress’s hug, see if you can spot the almost-river in the bark where their curiosity began.
