Pucko Uncorks the Rainbow — Every evening, Pucko polished the braided arches until each loop shone like wet leaves, then counted the shamrocks in a whisper so the old knot garden would stay properly grand. Read the full story →
Every evening, Pucko polished the braided arches until each loop shone like wet leaves, then counted the shamrocks in a whisper so the old knot garden would stay properly grand. One violet dusk, a moon-moth tumbled from the crescent with a hiccup so loud it popped a clover straight out of the ground.
Because of that, Pucko snorted; because of that, the snort bounced through the spirals and woke the sleeping sun on the wrong side of the sky. Warm gold spilled over the silver moonlight, the arches blushed into color, and every shamrock began clapping its leaves. Pucko tried to shush them, but joy fizzed in his nose like nettle soda. Finally, he climbed onto the center stone and hiccuped back, on purpose. The whole garden answered—moon, sun, moth, and clover—while Pucko polished nothing and counted the shamrocks in a whisper.
