
I put the picture of the sign for forgot in my head—four fingers sliding across the forehead like they’re wiping away a thought. Sometimes the signs took me to a different thinking place.
Feathers by Jacqueline Woodson

I put the picture of the sign for forgot in my head—four fingers sliding across the forehead like they’re wiping away a thought. Sometimes the signs took me to a different thinking place.
Feathers by Jacqueline Woodson


He thought of the horses at Grandpa’s ranch. Three of them in all. One was called Cropper after the horse of the famous cowboy Bill Pickett. Another horse, a dapple gray, got his name from Grandpa. Grandpa said the horse talked to him, so he named him Palaver. Black Lightning, the youngest of the tree, belonged to Justin whenever Justin visited the ranch. Justin called him Black and called Palaver, Pal.
Justin and the Best Biscuit in the World by Mildred Pitts Walter

A ten-year-old boy cannot run a farm. But you can’t tell a ten-year-old boy that. Especially a boy like little Willy.
Stone Fox by John Reynolds Gardiner



Her sunrise smile faded but that didn’t stop me from staring. She was beautiful in a farmer’s daughter, spelling-bee champion kind of way.
Pillage by Obert Skye

All harvesttime Cinderellis couldn’t wait for his brothers to see his vegetables. His carrots were sweeter than maple syrup. His tomatoes were redder than red paint. And his potatoes were so beautiful, you could hardly look at them.
Cinderellis and the Glass Hill by Gail Carson Levine

