Juna Counts the Warm Puffs — Across the black lava flats, little Juna pressed one claw on a flat stone and whispered, “One warm puff.” The volcano answered with a soft whoomph, smelling like hot dust after rain. Read the full story →
Across the black lava flats, little Juna pressed one claw on a flat stone and whispered, “One warm puff.” The volcano answered with a soft whoomph, smelling like hot dust after rain. Juna had given herself a tiny challenge: count three puffs without stepping back. Her sail tingled in the warm breeze. She set her other foot on a smooth rock. “Two,” she breathed, quieter than a beetle’s wing.
Before the third puff came, a round cloud above her made a small, happy wobble. Juna opened her mouth in surprise and saw her own breath float up, pale and curly, joining the volcano smoke. The mountain had not been counting alone at all. Juna smiled her toothy smile and breathed out slowly. “Three,” she said, and the cloud drifted bigger. Next time you spot the smoky sky behind her, see if you can find the puff that started as Juna’s brave little breath.
