June and the Wagon Map — Under a sky scrubbed bright by September wind, June raced between pumpkin vines with a folded wagon tag pinched in her hand. Read the full story →
Under a sky scrubbed bright by September wind, June raced between pumpkin vines with a folded wagon tag pinched in her hand. The tag looked ordinary: two words, PUMPKINS and HARVEST, printed in square letters for the cart. But on the back, her cousin had drawn crooked lines, dots, and a tiny X. June loved maps more than pie, so she hopped over curled stems, brushed gritty soil from her knees, and followed every mark as if it led to a secret country.
The lines sent her past the sunflower row, around three wooden baskets, and straight to the scarecrow with the straw hat. “Which way, Captain?” June asked. The scarecrow’s sleeve flapped—snap, snap!—toward the barn road. She ran, laughing, while blackbirds stitched the air above the silo and the pumpkins gleamed like little lanterns in the warm dust.
At the wagon, June unfolded the tag again. The X was not on the ground at all. From there, the sunflower heads, scarecrow arms, barn roof, and bird shapes made one giant arrow pointing up to the biggest cloud. Hidden in its puffy edge was a perfect pumpkin shape, sailing over the farm. Next time you spot the wagon tag, see if your curiosity runs up the same September wind.
