Pipkin’s Waiting Crown — Every afternoon, when the clover smelled peppery and warm, Pipkin polished a bent tin crown with his sleeve and waited by the snortberry bush. Read the full story →
Every afternoon, when the clover smelled peppery and warm, Pipkin polished a bent tin crown with his sleeve and waited by the snortberry bush. He wanted to crown the secret Snortberry Queen, who was supposed to appear after the thirteenth butterfly sneeze. Twelve sneezes came quickly: pfft, pffft, PFFT! The thirteenth did not.
Then a unicorn trotted over, nosed the crown, and sneezed so hard that three mushroom caps wobbled. “Not yet,” Pipkin whispered, though his fingers itched to plop the crown on somebody. Because he waited, the unicorn began scraping the grass in a slow circle. Because of that, fireflies blinked awake under the leaves, spelling: QUEEN LATE. SEND SUBSTITUTE.
At last Pipkin bowed to the unicorn, who held very still, except for one proud ear twitch. The crown fit between mane and horn with a tiny clink. If you listen to the butterflies next time, maybe you’ll hear the thirteenth sneeze that started it all.