Cow and Platypus Consider

For Aunt Amy, my favorite Lunch Lady/Librarian


Out of a rosy sunrise sky, a blueberry bagel once ringed itself on a cow's horn.

"What's this?!" said Cow.

"Oh, that's just the eagles harvesting breakfast," said Platypus.

"Well, now I have a bagel on my horn," grumbled Cow, "And I can't even eat it."

"We should ask the lunch lady what to do."

"Lunch ladies don't know anything about breakfast! Besides, they're mean."

"You're jumping to conclusions."

"I'm not jumping to anything!"

"Are too!"

Cow and Platypus looked at each other and considered a water fight. After all, that would make the bagel soggy and likely to fall off.

Suddenly, a voice said, "You should consider the librarian."

Cow and Platypus shrieked and yelled, "A LIBRARIAN?! WHERE?!"

"Right here," said the librarian.

"AHHHHHHHAHHHAHHHHHHHAHHHHHAHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The librarian eyed Cow and Platypus over her glasses and placed a finger to her lips.

"NOOOOOO DON'T SAYshhhhhhhhh!"

Cow and Platypus gasped and held their breath.

The librarian smiled sweetly and said, "Now, how can I help you?"

"Cow has a bagel on her horn," said Platypus, "and I don't have hands."

The librarian took the bagel off Cow's horn and they all had a snack of toasted blueberry bagel with cream cheese.

"That was a nice librarian," said Cow, as the librarian walked away.

The librarian turned and yelled back, "I forgot to tell you! I'm also a lunch lady!"

Cow and Platypus blinked.

"I guess she's a nice lunch lady too," said Platypus.

And that's how Cow and Platypus considered The Lunch Librarian nice.

Maid of Honor

I was happy to stand beside my dear cousin, Kendra, as she was married this past Saturday. Her wedding was lovely in colors of gray, yellow, and green.

twirling in gray frock

against the rainbow flowers

dance my yellow shoes

A Memory

     After supper, my brothers and I run outside into the backyard. The air moves sluggishly as we sit in the dark shadow of the house drawing pictures in the dust. A ripe summer sun slips behind the trees and we make a mad dash for the swings as the first cool breeze brushes our hair. Creaks of objection exhale from the swing-set as we swing higher and higher. We let go and seem to fly before landing with a thud on packed dirt.

     In the clear sky the stars peep out and the moon displays its Cheshire grin. We begin to swing slower and slower, talking of the world and spinning the stories of our future. The crickets leisurely join the stars in song. It soon fills the air. My father comes out of the house to listen. "Time to come in!" His voice cuts through the twilight. Complaining, we trudge inside to the reality of bedtime.

Lunchtime Fruit

"This orange looks like a pear." he said, as he sat down and ate two. 

 ("He" is my father and he did say those words, but he ate only one.)