Milkhause

Lola the ladybug was a creature of pure joy, a tiny jewel against the emerald leaves. Her days were a symphony of movement and melody, as she pirouetted through the air, a whirlwind of ruby and black, her voice a sweet, high hum that echoed through the garden. From the blushing rose to the sun-kissed daisy, Lola danced and sang, her spirit as light as her delicate wings. One breezy afternoon, caught in an ambitious spin a little too close to a thorny branch, Lola stumbled. There was a sudden, sharp pain, a tearing sound, and she plummeted. She landed hard on the soft earth, her world tilting. A gut-wrenching…

Agustina had always seen her yard as simply “big.” An expanse of green, bordered by a wooden fence, it felt more like a quiet, empty canvas than a vibrant space. And for Agustina, who often found herself alone in her large house, the yard only amplified a subtle ache of loneliness. Then, one warm spring morning, as she knelt to pull a stubborn weed, she noticed it. A tiny ant, marching with determined purpose across a pebble. A moment later, a fuzzy bumblebee buzzed lazily past her ear, disappearing into a half-opened rosebud. A grasshopper sprang from the dewy blades of grass nearby, landing with a soft thwip a foot…

Agustina lived in a grand, quiet house perched on the slopes of Queen Anne’s neighbourhood in Seattle, a city perpetually cloaked in a soft, grey mist. The house, once vibrant with the laughter and chaos of five children, now echoed with a profound silence. Peter was in Mexico City, a world away; George had built a life in Brazil; Emma pursued her passions in Germany; Matthew had found his calling in China; and Emily, her youngest, resided in the UK. Her husband, Arthur, had passed away peacefully a few years after retirement, leaving Agustina utterly alone. Her grandchildren, sweet as they were, were distant constellations, visiting only during the bright,…