Felicia skipped through the meadow while picking flowers. Her bouquet included daisies, Queen Anne’s lace, Black-Eyed Susans, and a purple flower she never could remember its name. Bees hummed in the air. A startled pair of birds took flight. The breeze caused the long grasses to sway like a slow metronome. Back and forth. Back and forth.
The young woman twisted and twirled like a fluttering butterfly. She broke out in a melodious song. Her high soprano voice rivaled many in the land.
The carefree beauty paused when she stumbled upon a small man lugging along a large pot.
“Can I assist you, sir?” Her voice carried a bard’s lilt as if she sang instead of spoke.
“I could use a hand, if you don’t mind, miss.” He was bow-legged under the strain of the great cauldron.
“I don’t mind at all.” She tossed the flowers behind her and grabbed one of the pot’s large handles. The iron bit into her hands, but she didn’t appear to mind. “Is your house far, sir?”
“Not too far, just beyond that hill.”
The two lumbered under the weight as they plodded up the hill. In the distance, Felicia spotted a multicolored house. Brilliant red brushed the roof. Cool blue splashed upon the walls. The door sported bright yellow. The window shudders were vibrant green. Orange flowers ran along the outline of the house.
“Do you live there?” The words burst from her lips.
“Yes, I do. We’re almost there.” Sweat dripped from the man’s nose while the two carried the cauldron down to the house and inside.
“You have a lovely home,” she said, making small talk.
“Thank you. Now how can I repay you, miss?” The man looked up at her. He appeared earnest.
“Oh, I was happy to help.” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm.
“I can’t let you leave empty-handed.” He released her and rubbed his chin. “I know. Wait here.”
He left for a second and returned carrying a four-leaf clover. “Luck is what you shall have, miss.”
“I couldn’t accept.”
“But you must.” He pressed the clover into her hand.
“If you insist.”
“I very well do.”
She smiled. “Okay, thank you.”
The little man showed her out, and she walked back up the hill twirling the clover.
It was sweet of the old man to give me his clover, she thought while humming a little tune. When she arrived at the top of the hill, she glanced back. The rainbow colored house had disappeared. In her hand, instead of a simple clover, she held a gold coin.
Awww what a cute story! Will the coin still bring her luck? I hope it does.
Good moral too: You should help someone out without thinking of payment back.
Love the metronome anology. :)
Nice. Loved the ending!
Ah, what a fun story! And timely for the season of the leprachaun.
Tossing It Out
What a sweet tale! I loved it. The metronome analogy was wonderful. I could picture them in my mind.
Aubrie - Thank you! Although I had to read through my story again to find my great metronome analogy. It was pretty good. *laughs* Sometimes I get in the zone and don't really remember what I write. It's weird.
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