Dreams and Milk

Molly was a 16-year-old milkmaid, her days filled with the repetitive but essential task of milking the cows on her family's farm. Every morning, she would rise before dawn, her brown hair neatly tied back into a braid that hung over her petite shoulders. Her soft blue eyes sparkled with a sense of optimism as she filled the large metal pails with milk, carefully placing them by her side. The cows grazed lazily in the early morning sun, their gentle mooing blending with the sounds of the waking farm.

This morning, like every other, Molly loaded her pails of milk and began the familiar walk toward the village market. The dirt path stretched ahead, winding through fields of wildflowers and crops. As she walked, her mind began to wander, drifting into daydreams. Molly imagined all the things she could buy with the money she would make from selling her milk—perhaps a new ribbon for her hair or even a pretty dress. A dreamy smile spread across her face as she thought about how she could finally impress the other milkmaids in the village.

Along the roadside, Molly spotted a woman selling chickens. 

She paused, her eyes lighting up as a new thought entered her mind. "What if I bought a chicken?" she mused, gazing at the small brown hens clucking contentedly in their pen. "I could sell eggs at the market as well as milk. With the money from both, I'd make more than ever!" She imagined herself walking into the market, holding baskets full of fresh eggs, while the other milkmaids looked on with envy. 

Molly's imagination ran wild—she could almost feel the weight of the coins in her pocket, the admiring glances of passersby, and the satisfaction of besting her rival, Lila.

Lila was the perfect image of a milkmaid, always dressed neatly, her hair styled just right, her pails spotless and filled to the brim. Molly often felt overshadowed by her, but not for long, she thought. Once she had her chickens, she would be wealthier, better dressed, and more admired than Lila ever could be. "I'll be the richest milkmaid in the village!" she thought, her heart swelling with excitement.

As these thoughts swirled in her head, Molly began to skip down the path, her steps light and full of hope. The pails of milk swayed with her movements, but she was too absorbed in her daydreams to notice. She imagined herself wearing fine clothes, selling milk and eggs, and even owning a little shop of her own one day. "Everyone will be so jealous," she whispered to herself, her eyes gleaming with ambition.

But in her excitement, Molly tripped on a small stone. The heavy pails tipped over, and in an instant, the milk spilled out, cascading onto the dirt path and soaking into the ground. Molly froze, staring at the ruined milk with wide eyes. Her heart sank as she realized what had happened—her dreams, as grand and vivid as they had been just moments ago, evaporated as quickly as the milk seeped into the earth.

"No!" she cried, dropping to her knees beside the pails. It was no use. The milk was gone, and with it, her hopes of extra money for a chicken, for a ribbon, for anything. Tears stung her eyes as she thought about the long walk home, the empty pails she would carry, and the disappointment she would face from her family.

With nothing left to do, Molly turned back toward the farm. Her once-hopeful stride was now slow and heavy, her head hung low with shame. The sun that had shone so brightly earlier seemed muted now, the flowers that had once lined her path feeling distant and unimportant. Each step felt heavier than the last as she replayed the moment over and over in her mind. She had been foolish, letting her imagination run wild while her real-world responsibilities slipped through her fingers.

When she finally reached the cottage, her mother stood at the door, waiting for her. Her mother was a kind woman, her silver-streaked hair tied back, her weathered face showing the wisdom of years of hard work and care. She saw the empty pails immediately and sighed softly, shaking her head. "You spilled the milk, didn’t you?" she asked gently, though the answer was clear.

Molly nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. "I was just… I was thinking about buying a chicken," she began, her voice trembling. "I thought I could sell the eggs, and then…"

Her mother placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, guiding her inside. "Molly, you mustn’t count your chickens before they hatch," she said with a gentle smile. "Dreaming is fine, but you need to stay focused on what’s in front of you."

That evening, Molly sat by the hearth, thinking about her mother’s words. She realized she had been so caught up in her dreams that she forgot to pay attention to the present. From now on, she promised herself she would work hard but stay grounded in what was real.