The Thermos That Giggled — Under the tall trees, Quinn carried a dented green thermos that clinked against a stack of cups. Everyone thought it was for cocoa, and it was, mostly. Read the full story →
Under the tall trees, Quinn carried a dented green thermos that clinked against a stack of cups. Everyone thought it was for cocoa, and it was, mostly. He had added cinnamon, one tiny marshmallow per cup, and a pinch of crushed maple leaf because it smelled like October being silly. While the others napped after hiking, Quinn tiptoed around the lakeside camp, leaving warm cups beside the log bench, the tent flap, and the sleepy canoe rope.
The wind helped too much. Leaves skittered down the path—scratch, flip, skoot—and covered every cup. Quinn had to guess where he had put them, which made him whisper, “This is either generous or deeply confusing.” Then his thermos giggled. Not a person giggle. A tiny, whiskery, nut-in-cheeks giggle.
Three squirrels popped from the woodpile, each wearing a leaf like a crooked hat. They had been sliding the cups to the coldest spots: one by the lantern, one near the sleeping bag, one for Quinn beside the fire. He poured the last cocoa into an acorn cap for them, and nobody saw except the lake, the leaves, and maybe you—can you spot where the wind might hide a secret cup next? The dented green thermos clinked softly against the cups.
