The House That Shared Smoke — At the foot of the high pines, Orin rolled his little wheels to a quiet patch of grass and shut his door tight. Read the full story →
At the foot of the high pines, Orin rolled his little wheels to a quiet patch of grass and shut his door tight. He had baked cinnamon buns in his stove, and he wanted every sweet, warm smell to stay tucked inside for bedtime.
Then a small cloud bumped the chimney with a soft poof. “May I have just one smell?” it whispered. Orin opened the stove flap, and the bun-scent curled up, round and purple in the evening light. The cloud sighed, grew fluffy, and called two lonely clouds from behind the mountains to share it.
Ever since, tiny houses in the mountains let their chimneys send up curling smoke, because joy that warm should never stay indoors. If you spot Orin’s swirl above the roof, can you imagine who came to breathe it in next?