To Market, To Market

Wooden stalls line the street, bright and early each morning. The lovely white birds roost inside, taking stock of inventory. They each begin with a few dozen chubby-cheeked infants per day, and all of them are sold out by nightfall. Children are in high demand these days.

Couples come from miles around to survey the wide selection. Some come alone, and returning customers occasionally bring other little ones, products of this very market. 

"See where you come from," they tell their little ones. "This stall here" or "that stall there." Misbehaving children are often threatened with returns. The parents, of course, threw away the receipts long ago.

After hours and days of searching and comparing prices, a deal is struck. A tiny, sweet infant goes from wing to loving arms, bubble-wrapped if requested. Sometimes parents have it delivered straight home, soaring over houses and trees and fresh-mowed lawns in the firm but kind grip of the stork.

One day, it will be grown-up enough to wonder where it came from. Its parents will look to one another and smile, then tell them the wonderful tale of the-

Hold on, you said stock market?

My bad.