Aster Waits for the Sun Gate — Each morning before the gardeners unlocked the iron doors, Aster paced the conservatory dome and counted the first seven gold beams as they warmed the fern-scented glass. Read the full story →
Each morning before the gardeners unlocked the iron doors, Aster paced the conservatory dome and counted the first seven gold beams as they warmed the fern-scented glass. He wanted the hidden Sun Gate to open, though it had ignored him for ninety-nine mornings. Then, on the hundredth, a firefly in a copper helmet struck the pane beside his ear with a bright tick.
“Follow slowly,” she buzzed, and darted between leaves of green glass. Because Aster did not pounce, the rays shifted into paths. Because he waited at each crossing, the vines stopped rattling and showed their small red signal berries. At last the dome blazed, not as a door to leap through, but as a map spreading under his paws. Aster sat in the honeyed roar of morning, patient as the first seven gold beams.