Grechanka shuffled into the kitchen. She rubbed her eyes and let out a big yawn. A steaming bowl of buckwheat porridge waited on the table.
She picked up her spoon and took a big bite. She blinked, then blinked again, and ate every last spoonful.
Grechanka stepped into the sunny meadow. Her legs started running before her brain caught up, her hair flying like a flag.
Halfway through the meadow, she slowed down. Her knees wobbled as a rabbit hopped by. She patted her pocket and felt something orange and crunchy.
She took a huge bite of the carrot. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Color rushed back into her cheeks and she bolted forward, zipping toward the biggest patch of flowers.
Grechanka reached the flower field and stood still, gasping at the tall, bright blooms. Her tummy rumbled, reminding her of the apple in her bag.
She took a big bite of the apple. Crunch. She spun in a circle, laughing as petals floated down like confetti, her feet tap‑dancing back toward the cottage.
Grechanka climbed into bed. The quilt was soft and warm against her chin. She closed her eyes, smiling at the thought of tomorrow.