Calla’s Extra Sunbeam — By noon, the brass observatory smelled of warm dust and lemon oil, and Calla had set herself a private challenge: count every sunbeam curling across the dome before the clock chimed once. Read the full story →
By noon, the brass observatory smelled of warm dust and lemon oil, and Calla had set herself a private challenge: count every sunbeam curling across the dome before the clock chimed once. She tapped each mark with a silver pencil—one swirl, two petals, three dots—trying not to laugh at the face in the center, which looked far too pleased with itself.
The light thickened like honey. More curls appeared where none had been, looping around the old painted flowers and slipping into the border of tiny circles. Calla counted faster, then stopped. The newest mark was not a number at all, but a winking mustache made of sunshine.
From the high glass, a warm voice whispered, “You missed mine.” Calla snorted so loudly a moth fell off the railing. She drew the mustache into the official noon chart, then added six ridiculous spirals for good measure. By evening, everyone in the observatory was hunting for the sun’s joke, and the joy in the dome had grown too bright to keep indoors.
