Story #3

This story about my little sister and me is very short--I'd probably add to the beginning a story about me being disappointed with life or the way something turned out. It's also a little cliche, but cute. Again, I'd love to hear any opinions.

I sat on the swing with Libby, talking.

“That magic tree has lots of flowers this year,” she said sagely, pointing to the large flowering bush to my right. I didn’t even know what kind it was.

“A magic tree?” I asked, humoring her.

“Dad said it has more flowers than last year,” Libby repeated, suddenly producing one from nowhere. “They’re pretty. I found this one—not on the tree. It was just on the ground, ‘cause you’re not ‘posed to take them from the tree.”

I looked at her more closely, more thoughtfully. “So . . . the tree is magic because it grows flowers?”

“Uh-huh. The other tree—the one that’s like a Christmas tree—” she pointed to our scrappy pine, “that one is magic ‘cause it looks real’ pretty when it gets water on it. It sparkles.”

She flitted away, leaving me to wonder if my standard for magic was set too high.