You'll wish that summer
could always
be here!

Do ordinary things with extraordinary love.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Tuesday Tales

A weekly peek at what we're reading. 
Post your peek in the comments and share your favorite books!

Anne is still reading
Journey to the Well by Diana Wallis Taylor

There was a knock at the door announcing that Hannah and several neighbor women had arrived along with two of Marah's friends, Timnah and Atarah.  Behind them came other women of the neighborhood.  They all looked over Reba's preparations with a practiced eye.  Gathering the wedding garments, they exclaimed over them in animated whispers.  One woman counted the coins in the bridal headband.  Marah unbound her hair as they began to dress her.  Since her wedding feast was the only time she would appear in public with her hair down, her friend Atarah carefully combed the rich tresses that tumbled down.

"Such a bride, may this day be the greatest of all days, may she have many sons!"  The women mouthed the expected phrases.

Holly is still reading
The Wicked Enchantment by Margot Benary-Isbert

The weather had turned colder again.  A bitter wind was coming down from the mountains and it seemed almost as if there might be another snowstorm.  At any rate it did not look like the beginning of spring, and the town's oldest people, who had experienced all kinds of weather in their long lives, said that there had never been a March like this one.  And then they looked timidly around to see that there were no eavesdroppers, and whispered that lots of things were happening these days that they never had known to happen before.

From the beehive in Aunt Gundula's bedroom came a low, mournful humming, and the pigeons in the gable of the sexton's house didn't seem to want to fly out at all.  Most of the day they sat on their perches, feathers puffed out disconsolately, and emerged only when Anemone came out to feed the chickens on the roof garden.  Even they stayed inside their coop most of the time.  Only the cathedral pigeons continued to circle above the square, as though they no longer felt safe in their nooks and crannies among the gothic stonework.

Lily is reading
Owl at Home by Arnold Lobel

Owl began to cry.  A large tear rolled down and dropped into the kettle.

"Spoons that have fallen behind the stove and are never seen again," said Owl.

More tears dropped down into the kettle.

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