Ginger didn't mind the wind. Most of the time. She liked the way it made the trees whisper and the tall grasses bend together as though they were sharing a secret. She liked how it cooled her cheeks on hot afternoons and made her red hair fly behind her when she ran.

But this wind seemed to be looking for trouble.

Ginger had just decided to go inside when something large and round came bouncing down the road. It rolled once, then twice. Then it leaped into the air, turned sideways, landed with a scratchy little sound, and rolled straight toward her. Ginger jumped out of the way.

The thing stopped. Ginger stared at it.

It was a tumbleweed.

Ginger had seen plenty of tumbleweeds before. They gathered along fences and piled up in ditches, and sometimes one would roll across the highway so suddenly that grown-ups had to hit the brakes. But Ginger had never seen one behave quite like this one.

A gust of wind came along and lifted it into the air again. Up it went, around it spun, and down it came. Then it rolled in a circle, bounced twice, and stopped almost exactly where it had started.

Ginger laughed. “You’re dancing!”

The tumbleweed, of course, said nothing. Another gust swept across the road, and off it went again.

This time Ginger followed.

The tumbleweed bounced across an empty field, and Ginger ran after it. Whenever the wind slowed, the tumbleweed stopped. Ginger stopped too. Whenever the wind blew again, they both took off.

Soon Ginger began copying it. When the tumbleweed rolled, Ginger somersaulted through the dry grass. When it bounced, she jumped. When it spun, Ginger stretched out both arms and twirled until the whole world seemed to whirl around her.

“You’re very good at this!” she called.

The tumbleweed bounced over a little mound of dirt. Ginger decided that meant thank you.

They danced farther and farther across the field until the tumbleweed suddenly became caught against an old wire fence. Ginger stopped beside it, catching her breath. “Well,” she said, “I suppose that’s the end of that.”

The wind blew, and the tumbleweed trembled against the fence. It tried to roll, but the wire held it. Another gust came. The tumbleweed shook harder, but it was stuck.

Ginger crouched beside it. Up close, it didn't look much like a dancer. It was just a tangle of dry brown branches, brittle and prickly and dusty from traveling.

Ginger carefully pulled one branch away from the wire. “Ouch.” She pulled another free. “Ouch again.” Little by little, she untangled the tumbleweed until only one stubborn branch remained caught around the bottom of the fence.

Ginger tugged. Nothing happened. She tugged harder.

The branch snapped free.

At that exact moment, a great gust of wind swept across the field, and the tumbleweed shot away.

“Hey!” Ginger shouted, laughing. “You could at least say goodbye!”

She chased after it, but the tumbleweed was faster now. It bounced across the field, flew over the ditch, rolled onto the road, and disappeared around the bend. Ginger stood watching until she couldn't see it anymore.

She wondered where it would go. Maybe it would dance all the way to the mountains. Maybe it would cross the desert until it reached someplace Ginger had never seen. Maybe another little girl would find it tomorrow and wonder why one particular tumbleweed seemed to dance while all the others simply rolled.

Ginger brushed the dust from her knees and started toward home. Halfway across the field, she stopped. The wind had become quiet, and everything around her was still.

For a moment, Ginger felt a little sad. She hadn't known the tumbleweed very long, but somehow the field seemed emptier without it.

Then she noticed something near her shoe. A tiny piece of tumbleweed had broken off and landed in the grass. Ginger picked it up. It wasn't much of a souvenir—just a crooked little twig with three tiny branches—but Ginger smiled and slipped it carefully into her pocket.

Some things, she decided, weren't meant to stay in one place. Some things were meant to wander. And maybe there was something wonderful about letting the wind carry you toward whatever waited around the next bend.

Ginger looked toward the road where the tumbleweed had disappeared. Then she stretched out her arms.

A small breeze stirred her hair.

Ginger spun once, then twice.

And all the way home, she danced.