A Garden by the Well

My trunk reached down toward the fringe of the woven rug, where a tiny dried lavender bud had tucked itself away. Does our new acorn well need sweet blossoms nearby? Step... pause. I wrapped the tender tip of my trunk around the delicate purple bud, carrying it across the dark wood to the paper map. With slow, gentle care, I set it upright right beside the acorn cap. Press... it stood straight against the painted paper hill, its quiet herbal scent drifting softly past my ears. I rested my chin on the floorboards, watching our miniature village burst into bloom.