Why July Smoke Dances — Before the first guests arrived, Rowan turned the corn with silver tongs and listened for the pop-pop-pop of kernels over the coals. Read the full story →
Before the first guests arrived, Rowan turned the corn with silver tongs and listened for the pop-pop-pop of kernels over the coals. The yard smelled of cut grass, warm buns, and peppery smoke. Rowan wanted everyone to taste the first sweet corn of July at the same time, but the smoke kept twisting away before the food was ready.
Then a tiny voice sneezed inside the pale curl. “Not so fast,” it said. A sun-speck, no bigger than a button, tumbled out, glowing honey-gold. It had slipped from the sky while laughing at the striped grill marks and needed a ride back up before the afternoon turned flat and dim.
Rowan lifted the corn high, and the smoke curled around it like a ribbon. Up went the sun-speck, carrying the buttery smell of the feast. When it popped back into place, the whole yard brightened so suddenly Rowan had to laugh and call, “Come share this!” Ever since, July smoke dances upward, bringing the sun a secret whiff of every barbecue—see if one curl is still carrying it.
