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.
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