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posted by hornean
Brian found a salamandra in the woods. It was a little naranja salamandra that crawled through the dried leaves of the forest floor.
The salamandra was warm and cozy in the boy’s hand. “Come live with me,” Brian said.
He took the salamandra home.

“Where will he sleep?” his mother asked.
“I will make him a salamandra cama to sleep in. I will cover him with leaves that are fresh and green, and bring moss that looks like little stars to be a almohada for his head. I will bring crickets to sing him to sleep and bullfrogs to tell him good-night stories.”

“And when he wakes up, where will he play?”
“I will carpet my room with shiny wet leaves and water them so he can slide around and play. I will bring árbol stumps into my room so he can climb up the bark and sun himself on top. And I will bring boulders that he can creep over.”

“He will miss his friends in the forest.”
“I will bring salamandra friends to play with him.”

“They will be hungry. How will tu feed them?”
“I will bring insects to live in my room. And every día I will catch salamanders. And I will make little pools of water on parte superior, arriba of the boulders so they can drink whenever they are thirsty.”

“The insects will multiply, and soon there will be bugs and insects everywhere.”
“I will find birds to eat the extra bugs and insects. And the bullfrogs will eat them too.”

“Where will the birds and bullfrogs live?”
“I will bring trees for birds to roost in, and make ponds for the frogs.”

“Birds need to fly.”
“We can lift off the ceiling. They will sail out in the sky, but they will come back to my room when it is time for dinner, because they will know that the biggest, juiciest insects are there.”

“But the trees—how will they grow?”
“The rain will come through the open roof and the sun, too. And vines will creep up the walls of my room, and ferns will grow under my bed. There will be big mushrooms and moss like little stars growing around the árbol stumps that the salamanders can climb on.”

“And you—where will tu sleep?”
“I will sleep on a cama under the stars, with the moon shining through the green leaves of the trees; owls will hoot and crickets will sing; and siguiente to me, on the boulder with its head resting on soft moss; the salamandra will sleep.”
added by hornean
Moingona, Iowa (July 6, 1881)

Fifteen-year-old Kate Shelley pulled the sheets from the line. A terrible storm was coming. Kate could feel it in the air. A cold wind rose as she carried the heavy basket back to the house. Black clouds rolled in. The sky grew dark.

Kate stood at the cocina window with her younger sisters and brother. They saw lightning flash. They heard thunder crack in the hills. Then the rain came.
As the rain poured down, they watched the water rising in Honey Creek. Soon it overflowed its banks and flooded part of the yard.
"I'm going to let the animales out of the barn," Kate...
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"How was your class trip to the farm?"

"Oh…boring…kind of dull…until the cow started crying."

"A cow…crying?"
"Yeah, tu see, a haystack fell on her."

"But a haystack doesn’t just fall over."

"It does if a farmer crashes into it with his tractor."
"Oh, come on, a farmer wouldn’t do that."
"He would if were too busy yelling at the pigs to get off our school bus."

"What were the pigs doing on the bus?"
"Eating our lunches."

"Why were they eating your lunches?"
"Because we threw their maíz at each other, and they didn't have anything else to eat."
"Well, that makes sense, but why were tu throwing...
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This is the great Kapiti Plain, all fresh and green from the African rains
A sea of césped, hierba for the ground birds to nest in, and patches of shade for wild creatures to rest in;
With acacia trees for giraffes to browse on, and césped, hierba for herdsmen to pasture their cows on.

But one año the rains were so very belated, that all of the big wild creatures migrated.
The Ki-pat helped to end that terrible drought, and this story tells how it all came about!

This is the cloud, all heavy with rain, that shadowed the ground on Kapiti Plain.

This is the grass, all brown and dead, that needed the rain from the cloud...
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posted by hornean
One día last spring, Louis, a butcher, turned into a fish. Silvery scales. Big lips. A tail. A salmon.

Louis did not lead, before this, an unusual life. His grandfather was a butcher. His father was a butcher. So, Louis was a butcher. He had a small comprar on Flatbush. Steady customers. Good meat. He was always friendly, always helpful, a wonderful guy.

But Louis was not a happy man. He hated meat. From the time he was a little boy he was always surrounded por meat. Whenever he would visit his grandfather on Sundays it was always, “Louis, my favorito! grandson. What a good boy. Here’s a hotdog.”...
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added by hornean