New story: Hot Cocoa by the Lake
Our read-aloud story for June
320 Sycamore Studios believes that reading with kids can change the world for the better. Each month except August, we publish one original story and one post that hypes books and reading. Everything is written by a human.
Have your kids ever asked you where they were before they were born?
I got stuck for a long time thinking about how to answer that question for my kids, because I started to wonder, "Where was anything before it was something?"
Even something as ordinary as the steam coming off a mug of hot cocoa.
Which led to the little story below.
Happy reading,
— Jeff
Hot Cocoa by the Lake
One summer long ago, my father and I vacationed at a quiet lake high in the mountains where the air smelled like pine trees.
That first morning, I got up very early to make hot cocoa, then wrapped myself in a blanket and tiptoed out to the porch. The morning was cool and still. The porch swing creaked as I eased into it.
I had the world to myself.
A mist nuzzled the water. A robin greeted the morning. A breeze combed through the trees.
I cupped my mug in both hands. Cocoa steam spiralled up into the air.
And disappeared.
Which made me curious.
What happens to cocoa steam when it is done being cocoa steam?
First it wasn't.
Then it was.
Then it wasn't.
What happens to mist after it's mist? Where does the birdsong go? The breeze? What happens to a morning after it's a morning?
What happens to a person after they're a person?
I felt a little scared thinking that thought.
My father came yawning out to the porch just then carrying his own mug of hot cocoa. He kissed my head and sat down next to me.
We were quiet for a while, rocking slowly.
I asked my father about the cocoa steam.
He smiled. "That's a big question so early in the day." He was silent so long I didn't know if he'd answer.
Finally, he cleared his throat. "Well, kiddo, “here’s how I see it.” He asked me to close my eyes. "To see better," he said.
“Everything is made of particles almost too small to imagine. I call them glimmers, but scientists have fancy names for them. These glimmers, they move all through the universe in currents and streams and ripples. And they form into shapes. Sometimes slow-changing shapes, like a mountain. Sometimes fast-changing shapes, like cocoa steam. Sometimes medium-changing shapes, like ..."
"... a person," I whispered, opening my eyes.
“Right,” he said. “Like a person. Sooner or later, every glimmer flows into everything else, shaping and reshaping forever.”
I understood. Or at least I thought I did.
We looked out at the lake and the mountains and the forest. I tried to see the glimmers in everything.
It was peaceful there with my father. After a while, another question took shape.
"What are we supposed to do now?" I asked.
He clinked my mug with his.
"Remember the glimmers,” he said. And drink cocoa together."
So we did.
Did you know that we've published 20 stories so far, and that you can read them all for free? Just visit our bookshelf page for the links. If you like physical books (and who doesn't!), 12 of our titles are available for sale on Amazon.
Illustration by Cecilia Miraldi.