She came straight from weeding her small plot of land in the community garden.
The fiery redhead marched to the podium and gaveled the meeting to order. “The first item, the only important one, is the proposal to buy a mill to grind the wheat.”
A large man barked. “No one else grows wheat.”
The crowd quacked their approval.
Her feathers ruffled, the redhead said, “You eat the bread I bake. Let’s turn the garden into a wheat field and mill our own flour.”
A catlike woman spoke. “Hannah, dear, we thought you liked baking. We don’t.”
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 