The Hearth Under Sugar Snow — Before moonrise, Soren warmed his palms around the cold chimney brick and waited for one soft puff of smoke. Read the full story →
Before moonrise, Soren warmed his palms around the cold chimney brick and waited for one soft puff of smoke. The gingerbread cottage had gone quiet under sugar snow, and the pine trees made a hush-hush sound in the wind. He needed a spark for the hearth before the window frost crept over the shutters.
He stepped from the cozy kitchen onto the candy path, passing lollipops glazed with ice and candy canes that clicked in the breeze. At the last gumdrop on the roofline, he paid his small price: his wool mitten snagged and stayed behind, waving like a tiny flag. Soren kept going, fingers prickly-cold, because patience was the only lantern he had.
Near the peppermint doorstep, where nobody ever looked because everyone hurried over it, he heard a soft tap-tap-tap. Under the round red-and-white stone slept a cinnamon ember, glowing like sunset through jam. “There you are,” Soren whispered. He carried it home in a sugar shell, and soon the chimney breathed one slow curl into the stars. Next time you see the peppermint by the door, can you keep its warm secret under sugar snow?
