Nola Counts the Sneaky Snow — Under the cabin awning, Nola tucked her nose into the pillow and set herself a very serious challenge: count ten snowflakes without opening both eyes. One eye stayed squinty. Read the full story →
Under the cabin awning, Nola tucked her nose into the pillow and set herself a very serious challenge: count ten snowflakes without opening both eyes. One eye stayed squinty. The other peeked at the window. “One, two, sneeze,” she whispered, because a pine needle smell tickled her nose. Snow tapped the glass like tiny paws. The plaid blanket made a soft hill over her legs, and Nola decided hills were excellent counting places.
By seven, the lantern beside the bench began to blink—glow, glow, pause—as if it were counting too. Nola giggled so hard her spots wiggled. Was the lantern counting flakes, or counting her almost-snores? She counted its blinks, the lantern counted her sniffles, and the snow kept adding more. Soon the porch was full of numbers that would not sit still. If you peek at Nola’s sleepy smile, can you guess which number ran away first?
