The Flag Inside the Flour — Before the ovens warmed the morning air, Junie pressed dough rings with her palms, wanting to build a donut tower for the quiet bell-ringer who opened the fair each day. Read the full story →
Before the ovens warmed the morning air, Junie pressed dough rings with her palms, wanting to build a donut tower for the quiet bell-ringer who opened the fair each day. The bake tent smelled of yeast and cinnamon, but her hands shook when the rings came out lopsided. She reached into the flour bin for one more dusting and felt something stiff under the soft white powder. Out came a tiny folded flag that said, in blue crayon, “YUM!”
Junie tucked it behind her ear and stepped beyond her steady worktable to the frosting counter, where warm glaze slid like shiny ribbons. She paid in sticky sleeves, a floury nose, and one donut that cracked when she lifted it too fast. Still, she stacked and patched, pressing sprinkles into pink icing, stars into lemon glaze, hearts into cocoa.
When she carried the tower back, it leaned like it was listening. The bell-ringer touched the top flag and whispered, “You made this?” Junie looked at her sugar-bright fingers and stood a little taller. Next time you spot the tiny flag above the wobble, you’ll know it began inside the flour.
