Clear Skies to New Jersey

I marched back from the park pavilion straight toward the hearth. You had an ambitious cross-country flight in mind, and our birch hearth broom was parked right by the brick fireplace, bristles trimmed and ready for takeoff! I retrieved Molly from her teacup lookout, hoisted her onto the polished handle, and climbed on up front. 'Hold on tight, Molly, we have got a state line to cross!' I told her. She wrapped her yellow yarn arms snug around my waist without a peep. Bracing my buckled shoes against the braided rug, I gave the handle a brisk upward tilt, launched into a running dash past the armchair, and banked around the floor lamp. We swooped right over the sofa cushions and touched down with a solid thud onto an atlas opened flat to New Jersey on the coffee table. Flight completed, right on schedule!