The hastily written letter Mama Chipmunk held in her paw said that her cousin had lost her roomy apartment — the one with the tall windows and the skylights — when the rotted-out trunk of the ancient crabapple tree snapped in a wind storm.

After hearing the commotion of the fallen tree, Mouse and his wife had helped gather what belongings they could find amid the rubble — scarves and teacups and watercolors and sketch pads and blankets and fountain pens and pillows and this very stationery — and had suggested that their friend move into the rooms opposite theirs, at the base of one of the old maple trees.

(July 2023)

Story & Photo © Jennifer Singleton / Read+Purr

This is another vignette in my ongoing series of Tiny Garden Stories: peaceful 1-minute tales, full of cozy vibes, delicious details, and generous dollops of imagination & whimsy. Click one of the first two buttons below to go to (or back to, if that’s where you fell down the rabbit hole) either the Public Garden archive page or (if you’re a Story Club member) to the Private Garden page. Or click the third button to learn more about my Tiny Garden Stories. Want each week’s featured story delivered directly to your inbox? Subscribe to my Substack.