“Come in,” said Mr. Owl to the bouncy little owl on his doorstep, while rescuing his letter from the floor.

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He ushered the tiny owl into the living room and offered him a rather-too-large but comfy chair, where Harold promptly snuggled into the cushions and started humming. Mr. Owl, meanwhile, retreated to the kitchen, emerging a bit later with two steaming mugs.

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When Harold’s eyelids began to droop — before he’d even finished his cocoa — Mr. Owl insisted that his little guest stay the night.

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And only after he’d tucked Harold into the guest bed did he open his aunt’s letter.

(Mid-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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