The Morning Sun.

The morning light peeked between the curtains and woke March up. March wanted to see rainbows, and she longed to hear the buzz of a random bee or the flap of a robin bird's wings. She tumbled around the grass and felt a searing pain pierce through her heart. Not long after, a pile of dirt, swift as a butcher's knife, came cutting through the sky, right onto little March's face. It made her sneeze so badly her throat became sore and tired. March wanted so badly to see the rainbows forming above her, she longed to hear the buzz of a random bee or the flap of a robin bird's wings. Yet, all she could do was sneeze because the dirt had taken a foothold deep down in her throat. It even felt as if it might stay there forever.

But little March drew in a deep breath of crisp air and looked at the Sun for some comfort. It was good. The Sun always made March feel warm and fuzzy inside. She jumped up and ran as fast and as far as she could. So fast, her shadow could not even catch up. Gone were the ominous grey clouds; in their place, sprightly summer clouds glowered over her, like an angel bringing good tidings. March knew that all was fine and good and lovely. She peered into the morning sky and gave the Sun a great big smile.