June’s Perfect Pattern Pause — Every evening, after the conservatory glass turned violet with cold, June clicked her pencil against her teeth and checked the holiday tree from top star to clay pot. Read the full story →
Every evening, after the conservatory glass turned violet with cold, June clicked her pencil against her teeth and checked the holiday tree from top star to clay pot. She had given herself a quiet challenge: no two checkerboard ornaments could hang beside the same kind of smile. The air smelled of damp soil and pine sap, and the fountain made a soft plink-plink behind the ferns.
Until one day, a flower charm slipped from its hook and landed face-up in the watering tray. Because of that, June reached through the branches to rescue it, brushing a garland crooked with her sleeve. Because of THAT, three round ornaments swung out of line, flashing squares like tiny windows in a city at night. June froze. Then she heard the old greenhouse pipes hum, low and warm, as if the whole room were thinking.
“I can leave one path wandering,” she whispered. Finally, she tucked the flower where the crooked garland made a little bend, and the tree seemed to breathe around it. Next time you spot the wavy ribbons and smiling blooms, see if you can find the place where June stopped counting and knew she was home, pencil quiet against her teeth.
