Quibble’s Wobble Penny — At the bend of Harvest Lane, Quibble balanced a dull penny on his stem and waited for the funniest use of it. The coin smelled faintly of rain and old pockets. Read the full story →
At the bend of Harvest Lane, Quibble balanced a dull penny on his stem and waited for the funniest use of it. The coin smelled faintly of rain and old pockets. Below him, two pumpkin cousins hummed, while dry leaves skittered hush-hush across the ruts. Quibble winked at every squirrel, crow, and passing boot, but no prank felt penny-worthy yet.
All afternoon, the tower rocked in the breeze. Oak leaves flapped like floppy hands. Maple leaves tapped Quibble’s grin. “Not yet,” he whispered, though his cheeks ached from holding his mischief in. The penny warmed in a stripe of late sun, then cooled when a cloud slid over the lane.
At twilight, a beetle in a tiny blue scarf climbed up the stack and bowed to the penny. “There it is,” she said. “Our missing moon.” Quibble blinked. Under the beetle’s lantern, the plain coin flashed round and bright, and a parade of ants began dancing by its light. Quibble giggled so hard the three pumpkins wobbled together, patient as stones and silly as leaves. Next time you spot that crooked top grin, see if the penny-moon is still waiting there.
