The Bud That Waited
Bo held a small round bud. It was white as snow. Pip sat close on the cloud stairs. Bo lifted the bud and sniffed. It smelled like warm milk. It smelled a little like honey. Pip's ears went up. The bud stayed shut.
Bo gave the bud a shake. Nothing happened. Bo blew on it, soft. Nothing happened. Pip touched it with his nose. The bud held on tight. So Bo sat down on the step. "Hold still, little flower. We can wait."
The wind came by, slow and warm. It smelled like rain on the way. Pip leaned on Bo's knee. Bo did not shake the bud. Bo did not blow. Bo just held it. Mist went past, soft as wool. The stairs hummed a little.
Then one petal moved. Just one. It opened like a slow white hand. Bo kept very still. Pip kept very still too. The smell came out, sweeter now. Honey and milk and rain. Bo smiled at Pip. Pip's tail went thump, thump.
Another petal. Then another. Then all of them at once. The bud was a flower now, round and open. It smelled like the whole sky. Bo held it up for Pip. Pip sniffed and sniffed. "Hold still, little flower. We can wait."
Inside the flower was a little cup. The mist came down and filled it. One drop. Two drops. Three. The water went still and shiny. Bo could see the moon in it. Pip yawned a big pink yawn. Bo yawned too.
Bo set the flower on the step. The water in it settled, smooth as glass. Pip curled up warm by Bo's side. "Hold still, little flower. We can wait." The mist lay down on the stairs. Bo closed their eyes. Everything was quiet.
