Luma Opens the Round Door — Beside the round door, Luma set three stepping-stones in a neat little trail. Read the full story →
Beside the round door, Luma set three stepping-stones in a neat little trail. She wanted to walk all the way to the tallest curling flower before the sun slipped behind the leaves, so she touched the smooth door knob, breathed in the peppery smell of grass, and whispered, “Just one step.”
The glade answered softly. A butterfly ticked past like paper wings. The cloud above hummed a puffy, sleepy tune, and the flowers leaned this way and that, their striped petals rustling like skirts. Luma put one foot on the first stone, then the second. Warm light lay on her cheeks, and the mushroom roof shaded her back like a familiar hat.
Then a small star blinked beside her in daylight. It was not falling; it was listening. From its shine came a voice no louder than a seed: “We step out when you do.” Luma looked up and saw the sun smiling, the cloud smiling, even the curls on the flower stems seeming to grin. She reached the tallest flower and rested her hand on its satiny leaf. Next time you notice the little stones by her door, imagine the first one still holding the warmth of her brave, small step.
