After brutal winter days and a horrible case of cabin fever, on a calm day, Selma Turnbury escaped for an extra long walk in the field beyond the construction lot behind her house and was rewarded by witnessing the most unusual dialog coming from what seemed to be an abandoned car.
“Is it spring yet?” a male voice whispered to what must have been the blades of grass in front of its hood, or to no one in particular, Selma couldn’t decide no matter how much she rubbed her eyes.
“Y’all are whistling a happy windsong today, like the first notes of a jig.”
Selma cupped a hand to her ear, desperate for any sign of spring, but all she could hear was gentle rustling, and the same voice sputtered, “That melody sure does warm my old, stiff panels. I can tell, it’s gonna be my year. Yeah baby, I’ll shake off this rust and show the world what I’m made of—tough steel, thundering pistons, charging gears, and four liters of muscle.”
A sudden gust spit ice pellets at Selma’s face and pinged off of the car’s casing. A sheet of freezing rain trickled down the neck of her down jacket, and as she turned to leave, the car shouted, “Just one more storm, maybe two or four or ten—give me all you’ve got. This year, when the red horntail prairie plant flowers with the elixir she promised, you won’t be any match for the likes of me, you hear?”
Selma clenched her fists inside her pockets and scurried home, determined to add a red prairie plant to her own garden.
Tea Leaf Tales is a series of original ten-sentence short stories by Marsha A. Moore, relating to photos/scenes that resonate with her.*~*~*