Grand Pierre

Copyright 2013 Simon Anthony.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

isbn: 978-1-4907-1535-3 (sc)

isbn: 978-1-4907-1536-0 (e)

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Trafford rev. 10/28/2013

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For Emma and Jessica

plus all my family and friends.

Special thanks to

Anne-Sophie Aboké for the French translation,

Laura Hasler for the Chinese translation, and

Bruce Williams for the illustrations.

Contents

Heading straight for the sky

A visitor with news

A tall shadow

The biggest bird

Pointant droit vers le ciel

Un visiteur porteur de nouvelles

Une grande ombre

L’oiseau le plus gros

直冲天空

信使

一个很高的影子

最大的鸟

Heading straight for the sky

Farmer Marc was walking across the lower meadow of his farm, the bright sun warming his face. Rocky, his loyal dog, was walking by his side, also feeling hot under his black and dark brown fur. Looking back towards his house and the old farmhouse being renovated next door, Marc noticed how high the fir trees were growing, forming the boundary between the two gardens, a thick hedge heading straight for the sky.

‘I will have to find some way of stopping those fir trees growing taller,’ Marc said to Rocky, the dog looking up to his master, his tongue hanging from the corner of his mouth, his eyes glancing towards him in agreement. ‘I will ask around the village today and see if anyone has an incredibly long ladder, that’s what I’ll do,’ he continued, sensing that Rocky was no longer interested in the enormous hedge. A split second later he bounded away to see off a fat wood pigeon on a fencepost, who had been sitting there like an overweight king on a throne.

Rocky barked hoarsely at the pigeon as it quickly took to the air, a stray feather fluttering back towards the ground, only to land on Rocky’s nose, immediately making him sneeze violently like a dropped watering can. Unaffected by his bark, but startled by the unusual noise of his huge sneeze, Marie-Claire, the grandmother of all the milking cows, jumped aside quickly until she realised it was only Rocky. ‘Heavens to mergatroid! Fancy being spooked by a dog!’ she whispered to herself, as she decided to kneel down and lay in the cool shade of the largest apple tree.

An apple dropped from a low branch, hitting the ground with a thud into a small patch of mud. Surrounding trees all joined in and a number of apples dropped within seconds of each other. Marie-Claire ignored the chorus, while the bruising of each fruit produced a smell of cider around the orchard.

The middle of the day became very