Griselda built the cabin of logs and twisting branches. Moss crept in to plug the cracks. She put in a black-iron stove and a fireplace: when you’re nine hundred and thirty-five, you get cold easily.
The squirrels filled her pantry with nuts, and the Queen Bee’s guard brought honey. A white-pelted wolf left rabbits at her door.
Snow fell. Winter was a good time to die.
Then the woman showed up at her doorstep, heavily pregnant.
The babe was a girl.
Her laugh lit up the room.
Griselda bounced the baby up and down.
“Welcome to Grandma’s house,” she said.
Author’s Note: You start to think about stuff like this at a certain age.
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