Most works of fiction are broad highways, swooping the reader from start to destination, with maybe a bump in the road or two. A story by Noy Holland is a chain of mossy, slick rocks crossing a fast-rushing stream; each sentence, if your attention wanders, is a chance to lose your footing.
In a story like "Rooster Pollard Cricket Goose" or "What Begins with Bird" or "Love's Thousand Bees," chronology is shredded, the POV skitters from one character to another like a water strider, the realism dances on the edge of magic.
It's a little easier to get a grip on one of the one-page miniatures, gleaming tesserae like "Not So the Donkeys" or "Instructions for Xu Yuan Flying Or the Lifting Force Let Go."