Willow Nest Bed

Amelia was dragging her blanket across the new floor when she stopped. Every box in the room said KITCHEN or BOOKS or STUFF. None of them said AMELIA'S BED.

"Where does my bed go?" she asked.

"Over by the window," said Dad. "The truck will bring it tomorrow."

Tomorrow was a long way off. Amelia wanted to sleep somewhere that felt like hers tonight.

She tried the closet. It was dark and echoey, and it smelled like paint. "Hello?" she said, and the closet said, "Hello," back, which was funny but not cozy.

She tried the bathtub with her blanket in it. Her sneakers fell out and went clunk. Too hard.

So she went out to the yard, where a big willow tree hung its branches down like long green hair. Beneath it, the grass was soft.

"Oh," said Amelia.

A small gray bird was hopping about under the willow, picking up thin twigs. She had somewhere to be, and it was not Amelia's business. Pick, hop, pick, hop. She flew up into the branches with a twig and tucked it in.

Amelia watched. "She's making a bed," she whispered. "One piece at a time."

So Amelia did the same. She laid down her blanket for the floor. She fetched a cushion from the couch for the middle. Then she found the empty boxes and stood two on their sides to make walls. Then she pulled a willow branch down and tied it over the top with her hair ribbon, so the leaves made a roof.

Now it needed one more thing. She ran inside and came back with her stuffed rabbit.

"There," she said, climbing in.

Something went plip on the roof. It was only a leaf. Then another, plip, plip, and the willow swayed.

Dad poked his head around the box wall. "Room for one more?"

"Only if you're small," said Amelia.

Dad sat outside the door and handed her a cookie. Up in the branches, the little bird shuffled and settled, and the leaves went hush, hush, hush.