The little cottage corner smelled of soil and old paper. Pastel books stacked three high leaned against the leafy plants. The morning sun poured in, warm and golden.
Clatter, clatter, clatter! Three pastel books tumbled off the stack and rolled under the leafy plants. Clover's round little feet pounded the wooden floor.
Stamp, stamp, stamp went her feet, tail twitching like a metronome. Closer and closer she bounced until her belly hit the plaster wall. I can't sit still, she thought, and thumped again.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh! Every page flipped at once, ruffling like a tiny paper storm. The pencil squeaked through scratchy loops, snagged a leafy plant, and smeared green paint across the wall.
Clover lowered into the soft corner by the sunny window, knees tucked tight. She picked up one tiny page and one soft yellow crayon, still and quiet.
Round and round, very slow, she drew. A single leaf drifted down from the window and landed on the page with a quiet, papery whisper.
She drew the last slow circle and lifted the crayon. The yellow page looked like a little sun with round, sleepy eyes, and the leaf curled up like a smile. She blinked, very still, and one long breath puffed out.
Clover curled up beside her yellow page, pulling a fleece blanket over her ears to the very tips. The righted pastel books caught the golden light. She turned her face toward it, still, and breathed out, long, like a tiny yawn.