A Broomstick Hop

I hopped past the open back door onto the sunlit wooden porch, wanting to see the sky. Leaning against the railing was a wooden push broom lying flat across two weathered steps. It looked just like a Nimbus racing broom ready for a big Quidditch match. My round tummy felt hollow and my little paws felt heavy, but I gave one big, determined hop. My soft belly landed right across the polished wooden handle. It teetered slightly with a quiet wooden thump. I squished down flat against the smooth pine, pretending I was zooming high above the green lawn.