Micia’s adventures in the vegetable garden, the hayloft and the farmhouse attic.

• 18 October 2026 #6 A Mane of Straw The next morning, the pond drawing was dry. Micia placed it inside the old catalogue with the little fish and the leaves: she wanted to find a cover to keep them all together. Lillo suggested asking Max. The horse lived in the stable, where Grandpa also kept boxes, string and sheets of card. He welcomed them with his head over the stable door. He had a chestnut coat, a small white star on his forehead and a dark mane with a few strands of straw tangled in it. “Grandpa left two clean pieces of card in the cupboard,” he said. “Perhaps they’re just what you need.” Micia fetched them and rested everything on a tied bale of straw. But the sheets kept sliding down its sloping surface. “Wait, I’ll hold them,” said Lillo. A strand of straw tickled Max’s nose. His sneeze sent the little fish drawing flying. Micia froze with her paws open and her mouth wide. “Now it can fly too!” Lillo found it on the dry floor beside the manger. It was undamaged. Max lowered his ears, embarrassed. “I meant to help, not blow the sea away.” Micia stroked his muzzle. “You’ve invented a flying fish.” They moved the card onto a chest with a flat lid. With Grandpa’s help, they joined the pieces along one edge with a strip of fabric; two ribbons would keep the folder closed. Micia drew Max on the cover. To copy his mane, she studied the strands of straw still caught in his tufts. The horse looked proudly at his portrait. “I’m keeping this hairstyle.” Back at the farmhouse, the drawings went into their new folder. Micia put it on a shelf, away from splashes from the sink. The pencil returned to its cup. A strand of straw, however, was still tucked behind her ear. Read the tale →

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