Soren’s Quiet Parade Gift — The hallway smelled like floor wax and cinnamon crayons when Soren tucked his tallest paper feather into his headband. Read the full story →
The hallway smelled like floor wax and cinnamon crayons when Soren tucked his tallest paper feather into his headband. He wanted the front spot in the Thanksgiving parade, the place where everyone would see the feather bob above the crowd. With his backpack bumping his shoulders and the little PARADE flag in his fist, he stepped away from his classroom line to fetch a loose gold streamer he had spotted near the gym doors.
Past the clock and the echoing lockers, a soft scritch-scritch came from under the trophy case. Soren crouched. A tiny brown bird, blown in through the delivery door, trembled beside a dust mop, its wing caught in a loop of tape. “Hold still, little drummer,” Soren whispered. The tape stuck to his fingers, and the gold streamer tore in half when he pulled it free. He wrapped the bird in his tallest feather instead, warm paper curling around it like a small sunset.
By the time Soren hurried back, his headband had a gap and his flag had wrinkled where his hand had squeezed it. No one knew why. Then the custodian opened a high window, and the bird sailed out with one bright chirp. Soren lifted the wrinkled flag anyway, lighter than before. If you find the missing space in his feathers, keep the secret of the small sunset.
