The Summer Book

It is still summer, but the summer is no longer alive.

“But it’s spring!” Sophia said. “They don’t die now; they’re brand new and just married—that’s what you said!”
“Well,” Grandmother said, “it did die now, all the same.”
“How did it die?” Sophia yelled. She was very angry.
“Of unrequited love,” her grandmother explained. “He sang and scolded all night for his scolder hen and then along came another and stole her away, so he put his head under the water and floated away.”
“That’s not true,” Sophia screamed. She started to cry. “Long-tails can’t drown. Tell it right!”
So Grandmother told her he had simply hit his head on a rock. He was singing and scolding so hard that he didn’t look where he was going, and so it just happened, right when he was happier than he’d ever been before.
“That’s better,” Sophia said. “Shall we bury him?”
“It’s not necessary,” Grandmother said. “The tide will come in and he’ll bury himself. Seabirds are supposed to be buried at sea, like sailors.”

“The worm probably knows that if it comes apart, both halves will start growing separately. Space. But we don’t know how much it hurts. And we don’t know, either, if the worm is afraid it’s going to hurt. But anyway, it does have a feeling that something sharp is getting closer and closer all the time. This is instinct. And I can tell you this much, it’s not fair to say it’s too little, or it only has a digestive canal, and so that’s why it doesn’t hurt. I am sure it does hurt, but maybe only for a second.”

Hundreds of swallows darted around the house, whistling shrilly.

The lamplight on the window made it look much darker outside than it really was.

her grandmother and asked how God could keep track of all the people who prayed at the same time.

“He’s very, very smart,” Grandmother mumbled sleepily under her hat.

you can’t depend on people who just let things happen.

“Don’t look so cross,” Grandmother whispered. “This is socialising, and you have to learn how to do it.”

How silly, she thought. Why could I never bring myself to tell him I hate sherry? And now it’s too late. It really was a shame, seeing that she had now reached the age where a person can safely be truthful about small things.

‘Why don’t you have a garden?’ they’re always saying. ‘Watch things grow!’