Orin’s Slow Wagon Game — The wagon wheels made a soft cluck-cluck in the grass while Orin tapped each crate and whispered his new game: “One round thing, one long thing, one cozy thing.” He wanted the wagon ready before the farmhouse chimney puffed its third curl of smoke. Read the full story →
The wagon wheels made a soft cluck-cluck in the grass while Orin tapped each crate and whispered his new game: “One round thing, one long thing, one cozy thing.” He wanted the wagon ready before the farmhouse chimney puffed its third curl of smoke. Pumpkins, apples, corn, hay—almost right. Then the wheat bundle sighed in the breeze, and Orin saw one empty corner where a tall, rustly thing should stand.
He stepped past the fence, down the dipping lane, where dry leaves brushed his ankles and the air smelled like straw and cold dirt. A loose sheaf waited near the ditch, but reaching it cost him a mitten; it snagged on a bramble and stayed there, waving. Orin did not yank. He breathed, counted three slow wagon wheels in his mind, and eased the wool free thread by thread.
Back at the wagon, the chimney smoke had already curled high and thin. Orin tucked the wheat beside the corn and started again, slower this time: round, long, cozy; round, long, cozy. The game sounded better when it waited for him. Next time you spot the wagon wheels, see if you can count them slowly enough to hear their soft cluck-cluck in the grass.
