Priscilla holds Mom’s hand.
They walk to the pond.
The pond is shiny. The sky is blue.
Tall grass sways. Frogs go *plop*.
Ducks float. Ducks bob.
“Quack, quack,” they say.
Mom opens a little bag.
Inside are small crumbs.
Priscilla bounces on her toes.
She wants to throw fast.
But the ducks flap close.
Wings go *whoosh*.
Water splashes.
Priscilla feels scared.
She squeezes Mom’s hand.
Mom kneels down.
Mom whispers, “Slow hands. Soft hands.”
Mom shows her palm.
One crumb sits there.
Priscilla takes the crumb.
She holds it tight.
Mom says, “Wait. Count.”
“One… two… three.”
Priscilla waits.
