Owen grabbed hold of the blender and threw in a pillow.
He watched the feathers whir and whiz in great fluffy billows.
He plugged in the toaster and slipped in one, two, three perfect daisies.
A warm flowery fragrance floated to his nose and made him feel crazy.
In the mixing bowls, Owen stirred juice and jelly and a few jelly beans.
One bowl was grass green, another sky blue, and the third red as a rubies.
That made Owen think he should add a ruby or two.
So he pulled a pair and laid them on a pan, so shiny and new.
Next Owen went to honeybees in the oak tree out back.
And from their honeycomb home they let him fill up his pack.
He took a handful of toys from his sandbox, adding them into the mix.
Then he threw in a baseball glove, a frisbee, a board game, and an old hockey stick.
Cotton candy next. Ice cream. Watermelon. Pumpkins.
Owen thought for a moment that maybe he too would jump in.
But he held off, stirring and mixing and watching the dish.
He supposed in the whole wide world there wasn’t another chef who could do this.
Owen brought it all together, his pots and his pans.
And into one giant barrel he poured his whole potion, just as he planned.
Then he dipped a spoon, raised it to his nose and sniffed.
Then he dipped a finger and put it to his lips.
Not done yet, he thought. Not done yet.
Whatever it needs is exactly what it will get.
Owen rolled the barrel into his bedroom and added pages from all his favorite books.
He added a dash of laughter, a whole mess of joy, and one sideways look.
Rolling the barrel outside, Owen flooded the recipe with sunshine and fresh air.
He added a sliver of moonlight and topped it all off with a rainbow so fair.
Owen looked at his barrel, his secret recipe.
It’s perfect, he thought, so he put it in the icebox to freeze.
After the freezer, it went in the fridge.
Then he spun it over a fire, then rolled it down a ridge.
Then he buried it underground, then around it he danced.
And after one last jig he gave the barrel a “Here we go” glance.
At last it was ready, his own magic mix.
Owen lifted the barrel over his shoulder, for it had become as light as a chick.
He carried it into his room, poked a hole in the top
And set it under his bed and thought, “The recipe’s ready whether I’m ready or not.”
And as nighttime came, the scent from the barrel floated up to his nose
And dipped in his ears as he slept, covering him like a blanket from his eyes to his toes.
And his special recipe brought him the best dream he ever had.
Of magic and mystery and heroes, so even sleeping he smiled so glad.
And when Owen woke the next morning after a full night’s sleep
Gleeful and ready for the day, he smiled at the thought of the dream.
What a mix, what a dream, all his thoughts were “Hooray!”
And Owen could not wait to make an even better recipe today.
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