This is Ria. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People. Our story today is about something I've never done and know nothing about. Me, experiment in the kitchen, not use a recipe?

I don't know what you're talking about. Let's get to it. It's called Mrs. Owls Soup. Take it away,

Ava. Remember, there are no pictures. You'll have to imagine the pictures in your mind.

You can imagine the pictures however you want.

Okay, here we go.

Mr. and Mrs. Owl returned home after a successful hunt just before dawn. As soon as they crossed the

threshold of their treehouse, which was cozy, despite the chill in the forest, Mr. Owl made a beeline

for his hammock in the next room. Good morning, dear. Good morning, Mrs. Owl replied, but instead of heading to her

own hammock, she lingered in the entryway. Mrs. Owl was a spontaneous, imaginative sort of bird.

That was partly what made her an excellent hunter.

She'd have ideas come to her, from who knew where,

and she wasn't against acting upon them,

even if it meant changing plans at the very last minute.

Mr. Owl playfully called them her flights of whimsy, but generally

went along with them if they weren't too off the wall. As she stood in the entryway, dawn breaking

outside, sleep, beckoning inside. Mrs. Owl was seized by one of her spontaneous ideas.

She made an effort to reason with herself. It would take hours most of the day.

She imagined Mr. Owl's assessment of her idea.

You should get some sleep, dear.

But he had nothing to say at the moment.

She now felt much too keyed up to sleep,

though she could see the sun rising through the only window of the

...