“What happens next, dear?”
I shifted focus, from the fragrant mint congregating by the Shakespeare Garden fence, to my grandmother’s eager face. Her hands were pressed in anticipation against deeply furrowed cheeks.
“Cheeky Chipmunk scurried home, waved The Chipmunk Times, and shouted, “First prize! No one can beat me at woodworking!” His family gathered ’round as he pressed five chippy dollars into Mrs. Chipmunk’s hand…”
A tiny snore. Grandma was asleep.
Her frail chest rose softly, and her lips curled into a smile. As she dreamt, I turned my attention to the tulips and waved to the little chipmunk who had inspired my tale. He winked, and scurried away.
Copyright © 2016 by Emily Clayton
Originally appeared on Microcosms: