SCARECROW

A scarecrow with a friendliness toward birds takes the long view on what constitutes a satisfying experience. His physical construction is borrowed bits and pieces, a hat here, a suit there, button eyes out of someone’s drawer. But he is more than the sum of his parts: He possesses a peace and wisdom born of quiet observation. He sees seeds that transform into giant sunflowers and mammoth pumpkins, and takes in the sun and the moon, owls in the evening, and rabbits at dawn. Birds keep him company as he watches the passage of the seasons, and as he watches a girl, preparing, planting, tending, and harvesting her bountiful garden. Rylant (The Islander, p. 200, etc.) is in fine form with her lyrical, understated prose, and Stringer’s big, bold acrylic illustrations do a lovely job of amplifying the text, bringing in the child who is not directly mentioned. The art captures the scarecrow’s point of view, from the sweeping panorama of rolling hills and wide sky, to the close-up details: a morning glory twining around his feet and a mouse building a nest in his hat. (Picture book. 6-12)