Fiddleeebod

One day the cloud city groaned and rumbled. The grand rainbows hurried to the assembly grotto, crowding and shoving in order to get the best view of the coming storm. Would the storm achieve enough moisture tumbling sufficiency in ratio to the sunlight to require a rainbow? And if it did so, which bow would be selected by the chorus of siren sprites? The seven siren sprites stood importantly in a row, wings glistening, arms folded across chests, and gazing out at the developing storm. The storm grew impressively, lashing about with flurries of gushering rain, drenching gullies, causing rivulets to rush. Then it retired.

Now, it so happened that at this moment when the storm retired, the tiniest rainbow went slinkying by the assembly grotto’s entrance. She paused, curious to see which grand rainbow would be chosen to go spanning. She saw the seven sprites conferring, leaning together in a tight circle. Then they parted and turned, and the sprite in blue silks sang out to the rainbows.

‘It has been decided,’ she trilled. ‘You there, in the doorway, tiny rainbow, you shall span this day.’

The grand rainbows grumbled, but nevertheless slid aside, for the sprites had spoken. The tiniest rainbow, thrilled to a maximum blush of all her colors, leaped to span, and oh, it was grand. She grew to an impressive length, and when she returned, she was the grandest of the grand rainbows, and ever after she soared to span after the most especially highly graded storms of storms.

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Stories by Steve