The western and southern horizons were full of storm clouds, steadily advancing as the afternoon grew increasingly dark.

In the garden, the supple branches of the river-birch trees danced in the wind, showering a few yellow leaves on the garden path, where they settled in among the leaves that had already fallen and dried to a crunchy brown.

Recognizing all the signs of impending rain, and knowing their grandmother would want piles of dried leaves for stuffing a quilt or two, Mama Chipmunk’s grandchildren scampered outside, racing each other to gather fallen birch leaves before the rain turned them soggy.

(Early August 2024)

Story © Jennifer McClain Singleton / Read+Purr

This is another vignette in my ongoing series of Tiny Garden Stories: peaceful 1-minute tales that let you read like a kid again. 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 members-only “Private Garden” page. Or click the third button to learn more about my Tiny Garden Stories.

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