Passing of the Torch

Puck began his morning talking to the snowflakes as they fluttered to the ground outside his kitchen window. This was intermingled with the very serious conversation he was having with his cup of frozen blueberries.
“You are all mine, blueberries,” he said to them in his most official baby language. “None of you shall escape.”
It was Inauguration Day. Collette was happy to catch a glimpse of President Bush on the television as he made his appearance before the two million gathered below him. He had been a good president. And Collette believed, with great certainty, that one day, when the ingratitude of the American people had subsided, he would be remembered as another Abraham Lincoln, defending the freedom of his country.
Syllabus week.
Joe returned from his first day of class at Flo Valley.
“It should be a good semester,” was his diagnosis, as he changed into his flannel robe and dished himself a bowl of chocolate ice cream.
The days were so cold. Collette took her Puck out in the late afternoon with Mom to Trader Joe’s. Puck didn’t seem to mind the cold, however. Not when he had his warm mittens and a bright yellow balloon to watch on the ride home.
The evening ended with Italian kiwis.