Monday Microburst: Beneath the Sycamore
Magical. Mystical. Meaningful. Monday Microburst
Every week, I’ll share a tiny tale from Plymbury—the coastal New England town where all my stories live. These moments are short enough to read over morning coffee or tea, yet just long enough to leave a trace of magic in your day. I hope they become a small ritual you look forward to each Monday.
Beneath the Sycamore
Brianna stood in the Sea Glass Apothecary, her hand hovering over a display of softly humming jewelry.
“You’re not here for jewelry, are you?” Ravenna asked.
Brianna sighed. “No. I need a wish. I know the rules—no money, no harm, no bringing someone back from the dead.” Her throat caught. “But what if you don’t know how to move on?”
Ravenna didn’t lead her into the Wish Room. Instead, she said, “What you need isn’t a wish. Go to Beach Plum Park. Ask the sycamore by the fountain. It’s been answering questions longer than I can remember.”
At twilight, Brianna knelt at the tree’s roots, the fountain’s mist drifting across the path. A strip of bark peeled free and floated into her hands. On the smooth side, one word glowed:
Keys.
Her brow furrowed—until a memory rose. Her grandmother’s voice, coaxing her through scales, the house alive with music instead of silence.
She closed her fingers around the bark. For the first time in months, she longed to play.
Want More?
If this moment from Plymbury stirred something in you, there’s more where it came from. Join my newsletter for exclusive stories, behind-the-scenes glimpses, and quiet magic you won’t find anywhere else.
