Three Steps, Pause, and Turn
“Stop following me!” Betsy whirled around, her eyes searching the rough path for the sound she knew she’d heard. Biting her lower lip, she turned in a slow circle.
High above her, a lone hawk cried from a branch. Leaves rustled in the slight breeze that cooled her flushed cheeks.
Listening intently for footsteps, she became aware of her own harsh breath. It caught in her throat, and released as a single sob.
The rustling of the leaves got louder to her left, though the wind didn’t increase. A bit of brilliant red caught her eye. Was that a feather moving behind that large boulder? Some strange bird, or…?
“Caroline,” she whispered. “Caroline?” she called.
But it wasn’t her little sister who responded.
Out from behind the rock clambered a bold little man, a brilliant red feather stuck in his equally brilliant red hat. He wore a smart black suit with white lapels. With a grin so broad that his red mustache spread from ear to ear, he began to beat on a deep drum.
Totally forgetting her earlier distress, Betsy giggled in delight as an entire parade of little people emerged from behind the rock.
What a company! Mostly dressed in formal wear, they strutted and gazed about themselves. She took note of their splendid attire.
Some with rust-colored dresses and slate-gray wraps walked with their noses in the air. How could they see where they were going, she wondered.
A large contingent dressed in brilliant yellow pants and vests wore contrasting black shirts with bars of white. They glanced left and right continually, and ran from the parade as often as they walked within it, gaining strict looks from the drummer, and causing Betsy to giggle.
Finally came a few slower and stouter ladies, with fawn-colored tatty shawls, who bobbed as they walked, consulting each other, cooing encouragingly at the assembled. These reminded Betsy of her aunts, always watching and gossiping, when they weren’t cooking up treats for their nieces and nephews.
Once all had emerged, the drummer fell silent.
A small woman in a nondescript brown and cream dress sat on a low branch and began a song. At the first three notes, the company formed a circle. She trilled once more and they began to dance .
In three steps.
Pause and turn.
Out three steps.
Pause and bow.
Flutter and scratch.
Dip and call.
Repeat.
Betsy could not look away, nor did she wish to. She felt light, breathing deeply and easily. She sighed and relaxed against a sturdy tree trunk, allowing herself to sit and observe.
After several minutes another singer began, and the dancing changed. The dancers hopped higher and higher, until the circle burst apart in a cacophony of rustling, or was it flapping…and birdsong?
Her eyes lifted to see birds, like multicolored confetti, rising into the branches above her.
Betsy giggled. She laughed out loud as she stood up. Birdsong and twittering in the trees answered her. Her heart yearned after them. She threw her arms around the tree trunk and held it in a tight hug, trying to anchor the feeling.
But the sun shone low through the trees. Her arms chilled in the cooler air. Soon it would get dark. A good time to go home and reassure Caroline that Dodge’s hair would grow out again.
Betsy remembered how magic scissors seemed when she first learned how to use them. And of course she’d gotten in trouble too, cutting her own hair.
At least Caroline hadn’t cut her own hair…
Betsy stopped still.
Oh no! She hadn’t taken the scissors away! Caroline was still holding them when Betsy had found her with Dodge. She’d just screamed at her and run out of the house in frustration.
She hadn’t taken the scissors!
Betsy raced down the path.
Toward home.
Rose Alice White
February 12, 2026