Nora tiptoes past roses. She finds a hidden path in dry grass. Her bare feet crunch on leaves.
The gate creaks as she pushes it open. A tiny bird lies on its side, chirping softly. Its feathers are fluffed like wet cotton.
She lifts the bird gently with both hands. It pecks her thumb—quick and sharp—then stops. She hums a low tune, and the bird tilts its head.
She carries the bird toward an old oak tree. High above, a nest nestles in a branch. A larger bird swoops down, scolding loudly.
The parent bird snatches the chick back with a happy cry. The girl smiles, watching them settle into their nest.
Nora turns and sees a glowing acorn resting in the grass. It pulses faintly in the sunlight. She pockets it quietly.
She whispers, ‘I’ll plant you when I’m big.’ The acorn feels warm against her palm. She walks home slowly.
Back by the playhouse, she kneels beside the patch of soil beneath the oak. She places the acorn in the earth and covers it with dirt.