CLEMENTINA'S CACTUS

Wordlessly, a sun-bonneted tyke drags a lanky, bearded gent toward a cactus (in appearance, a prickly sack of potatoes). She touches the thorns, squats down for a long look, and has to be hoisted away and carried home. There follows a storm and a rainbow; an evening story and bed. At dawn, out she runs to the cactus—which, from the watering, has sprouted big yellow flowers. The full-color watercolors are both tall-tale comical and painted-desert pretty—a combination that doesn't enhance the small, Happy-Day-like conceit. It's harmless for a look-through—but as evanescent as the rainwater.