A Sewing Machine From 1919

My daughter and I stared at the machine.

“I like that it’s black,” she said.  “And those designs are so cool.  There’s so much detail.  Why doesn’t ours look like this?  I might even use it if it looked like this.  Wait…”  She turned to me.  “Do you think it still works?”

I peered at the machine sitting on the kitchen table, the sewing machine that I had inherited from my grandmother almost fifteen years ago.  Long before Selma was born.  I hadn’t laid eyes on it in all that time (even the few times I’d moved, I’d kept it packed away or covered).  And before that, I’d never seen it at all. 

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The Fortunate Little Leaf

Once upon a time, a town that sat nestled near the foot of a mountain, surrounded by forest
evergreen, ran out of food and fuel in the midst of a deadly winter. They were not poor, the people of this town. They were not foolish with their provisions. The winter had just lasted far longer than any in the realm had expected. Every season of that year was winter. Many perished.

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