And it was perfect.
It wasn’t a knock. It was a percussion solo performed by a tiny, red-cheeked tornado. Boom. Boom-boom. THUMP. Masha e o Urso
The Bear looked at the chaotic, noisy, impossible little girl. He looked at the dent in his woodpile, the stolen honey dipper in her pocket, and the dandelion seeds now floating through his clean kitchen. And it was perfect