When Old Possum was a boy, his grandmother would share stories of her ancestor from the old country, the one who lived in a high attic above the town’s giant astronomical clock, which was famous far and wide for its age, beauty, and intricacy.

From his rooms, he had an excellent view of the annual Advent market, full of greenery and twinkling lights, and bustling with shoppers.

And when he opened the windows for a bit of fresh air, he could smell mulled wine, roasted chestnuts, hot pretzels and potato pancakes, and spicy gingerbread glazed with sugar.

(December 2022)

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.