Willa’s Daylight Hoot Club — Under a sun that smelled of warm grass and daisies, Willa tucked one foot around an oak branch and tried to take a dignified daytime nap. The meadow would not cooperate. Read the full story →
Under a sun that smelled of warm grass and daisies, Willa tucked one foot around an oak branch and tried to take a dignified daytime nap. The meadow would not cooperate. Foxglove bells bobbed. Tall grasses hissed shh-shh-shh. A butterfly drifted past her beak, wearing orange wings and the expression of someone about to do something unnecessary.
“Pardon,” said the butterfly, “are you the new umbrella?” Willa opened one eye. The butterfly landed on a leaf, then bowed so low his antennae nearly poked his toes. “I’m Brisket. Noon Hoot Club starts when the shadows get short.” Willa blinked. Owls had clubs at dusk, at midnight, and sometimes during very serious fog. Noon sounded like a prank with extra sunlight.
Then the meadow answered. The foxgloves gave tiny hollow pops, the daisies nodded in a circle, and far above the hills, five small birds made the shape of a crooked smile. Willa gave one soft hoot—just to test the air—and every grass blade trembled with giggles. She had not found a place to sleep; she had found the only club where yawning counted as applause. Next time you see her on that oak branch, check the butterfly’s wings for the secret rulebook of the shh-shh-shh meadow.