Before the Bear could close the door, she had clambered up his leg, onto his shoulder, and was waving the dandelion at the ceiling.
“Bear! Bear! BEAR!” Masha stood on the porch, one boot on, one boot off, her hair a halo of static electricity. In her hands, she held a single, slightly squashed dandelion. “I had a dream! A very important dream! In the dream, you were sad because you didn’t have a hat. A royal hat. A crown! So I went to find you one, but the goat ate it, so then I found this flower, but it’s not a crown, it’s a wand ! Watch!”
He simply sat down next to her, very gently lifted her upright, and let her lean against his big, furry arm. For three whole minutes, under the pretense of “aggressive nothing,” the world was still again.
The Bear looked at the chaotic, noisy, impossible little girl. He looked at the dent in his woodpile, the stolen honey dipper in her pocket, and the dandelion seeds now floating through his clean kitchen.
