Orville Counts the Leaves — Every afternoon, Orville sprinted from the hay bale to the pumpkin patch, tapping one fallen leaf at a time with his claw. Read the full story →
Every afternoon, Orville sprinted from the hay bale to the pumpkin patch, tapping one fallen leaf at a time with his claw. He had set himself a challenge: count fifty leaves before the Thanksgiving bell clanged from the barn loft. The air smelled like straw and cold apples, and his pilgrim hat bounced so hard its buckle went clink-clink-clink.
Until one day, a gust tore through the yard and scattered his neat trail into a wild whirl. Because of that, Orville chased leaves under the wagon, around the pumpkins, and past the creaky barn door. Because of THAT, he had to stop for a waddling line of ducklings crossing the path, then wait while a milk pail rolled in slow circles, bong-bong-bong, right over leaf number forty-nine. “Not yet,” Orville muttered, toes itching.
At last the pail tipped, the ducklings cleared, and one maple leaf slid down from the hay bale like a tiny red kite. Orville tapped it just as the bell rang. Fifty! If you follow the leaves around his feet, can you spot the one that made patience worth the race?
