S
Straw was scratchy. That was the first thing patches learned when he woke up.
He was a scarecrow. His head was a pumpkin. His body was a burlap sack stuffed with hay.
A little girl named Lily had made him. She had put a small, red velvet pincushion inside his chest.
"There," she had whispered. "Now you can love."
Patches stood in the cornfield. The crows came. They pecked at his straw fingers.
"Go away!" Patches tried to shout. But he had no mouth.
He waved his arms. The crows laughed. "You're not scary, straw-man!"
Patches felt a twinge in his velvet heart. He didn't want to be scary. He wanted to be friends.
Winter came. The snow fell. Patches was cold. He saw a rabbit shivering in the furrows.
Patches knelt down. He opened his coat. The rabbit hopped inside the burlap, curling up next to the velvet heart. It was warm there.
By spring, Patches was a hotel. Mice lived in his pockets. Birds nested in his hat. He wasn't a scarecrow anymore. He was a sanctuary.
Lily came back. She saw the animals. She smiled.
"I knew it," she said. "I didn't make a scarecrow. I made a Care-crow."