PATH, HIGH SIERRA

Mary often retired to the woods in order to hug trees.

Silent film star Mary wore this hat to:
a. honor trees.
b. dinner on Sundays.
c. reign over meetings of The Landscape Happiness Society.
d. stand out from the mob of faux Pickfords.

The surliest triffid, Maltho Tippera, established itself in all innocence surrounded by lovely flowers next to the garden’s path. It awaited the morning revelers skipping by in their holiday finery. The attack was precisely planned. Happiness was something Maltho Tippera explicitly prohibited in its domain. The triffid waited and waited. The revelers, by fortune and whim, decided to alter routine and skip happily down the path on the other side of the garden. Foiled this time, the triffid made plans to deliver even more horrible consequences on some other glorious day. Until then, Maltho Tippera would make do stewing in fury.


The snowflakes gathered in the cloud to hear the final decision. Which one would win the honor to fall first on winter solstice? The chatting din subdued when the Grand Snowflake took position one small span beyond and above the eager crowd.
‘Flakes of beauty, welcome,’ said the Grand Snowflake. ‘Each one of you, no doubt, has dreamed of falling first on winter solstice, leading the descent. I will not keep you waiting. The choice is …’
The Grand Snowflake, despite its pledge, kept them waiting for a tortured moment longer.
‘…Penny!’
Gasps of disbelief swept through the cloud. Snowflakes rotated slowly, nodding displeasure. A small snowflake, embarrassed, not as attractive as some, more attractive than others, floated up from the assembly’s far edge.
‘Me?’ squeaked Penny.
‘You!’ firmly stated the Grand Snowflake.
Penny fought off a melting blush and fell, proudly leading the graceful descent.
