It was a while before they realized that a mermaid had surfaced at the shallow end of the pool. Her hair was pale and silvery and her nails were a shimmering blue. Between each finger was a thin webbing, of the sort you might find on a newborn seal or a duck.
Her fingers traced the knobby outlines of her kneecaps. She had studied her knees a million times. Mermaids did not have knees. Keeper did. Her knees were right there.
Kathleen Van Cleve
“Harry, my best friend, is a chocolate rhubarb plant.”
Polly Peabody’s family lives on what can only be called a magical farm. Their house is a castle. Nobody can Continue reading “Drizzle”