Rooster Points at the Apple Tree

The tin rooster on Grandma's kitchen roof was pointing at the apple tree, and it only ever pointed when something was lost.

Sophia saw it through the window. She was standing on her stool, her hands white with flour.

"Grandma, the rooster is pointing!"

"Then something is lost in the garden," said Grandma, rolling out the dough. "Oh. My star cookie cutter. My favourite one."

Sophia wanted star cookies more than anything. "I'll find it," she said.

She ran outside in her sneakers. Grandma stayed at the table, because the dough was soft and would not wait.

Sophia looked under the tomato plants. She found one fat worm. She looked in the watering can. She found only rain water. Up on the roof, the rooster gave a creak and swung its beak the very same way.

"Follow the beak," Sophia whispered. "Follow the beak."

She looked along it, past the tomatoes, past the fence, up into the apple tree. There, caught on a high branch by its red ribbon, hung the little star. It shone like a coin.

Sophia jumped. Her fingers only tickled the leaves. She jumped again. Nothing. She hugged the trunk to climb, but it was round and smooth and she slid right down.

She went back to the kitchen and stood very still, thinking. Her eyes found the soup ladle on its hook. It had a handle as long as her whole arm.

"May I take this, Grandma?"

"It's a good ladle," said Grandma, and kept rolling.

Sophia carried it out, stretched up, and slid the curl of the ladle under the ribbon. She lifted. The star swung loose and fell.

Plink! Right into the watering can.

A small green apple dropped too, and bonked her on the sneaker.

Back in the kitchen, Grandma pressed the star into the dough again and again. Soon the oven hummed, and through its little window, a row of gold stars began to puff.