Gus and the Hay-Bale Giggle — By the harvest slope, Gus held his face to the warm afternoon and counted sounds without rushing: chimney puff, cornleaf scratch, pumpkin thump as it settled in the soil. Read the full story →
By the harvest slope, Gus held his face to the warm afternoon and counted sounds without rushing: chimney puff, cornleaf scratch, pumpkin thump as it settled in the soil. He wanted to hear the farm’s quietest sound before the supper bell. The corn clicked like tiny teeth, and the vine border along the old gate curled in the breeze as if it were trying not to laugh.
A wagon rolled past with two hay bales, bump-bump, and Gus kept counting. One puff. Two scratches. Three leaf skitters. Then came a sound so small it nearly hid under the straw: “Hee.” Gus waited, because waiting was how small sounds grew brave.
At last the hay bale gave a sneezy wiggle, and out popped a field mouse wearing a corn silk mustache. “I was practicing my scarecrow face,” he squeaked. Gus shook with silent sunflower laughter until even the pumpkin seemed rounder with giggles. Next time you see the hay bales on the slope, dare yourself to find the place where a tiny “hee” might hide under the straw.
