Rain on the Bakery Roof

Mia heard a tap on the bakery window. Then another tap. She put down her little rolling pin and ran to look.

"Rain!" she said.

Mia loved the smell of rain more than anything. It smelled like wet earth and cool stones. But her grandpa's bakery always smelled of warm bread, and today the bread smell was so big that it filled up every corner.

"Grandpa, I can't smell the rain," said Mia.

"The bread is shouting," said Grandpa, and he laughed. "Open the door a crack."

Mia opened the door. A cold, wet breath came in, but the bread smell pushed it right back out. Mia frowned.

So she tried something else. She took a jar from the shelf, held it in the doorway, and clapped on the lid. Then she opened it. Sniff, sniff. It only smelled like the jar. It smelled like old cinnamon.

"Hmm," said Mia.

Just then a small brown bird hopped in under the door. She had come to get out of the wet, and she was only interested in crumbs. She pecked at the floor and paid no attention to Mia at all.

Mia watched the bird shake her feathers. Drops flew off her wings and landed on the floor. Plip. Plip.

Mia knelt down. The drops were right there, on the warm tiles. And the tiles were starting to smell like something cool and green.

"Grandpa!" she whispered. "The rain came in on the bird!"

Grandpa came over and bent down. He sniffed. His eyebrows went up.

"So it did," he said.

The bread was still there, warm and golden behind them. But down low, by the floor, the rain was there too.

Mia sat on the tiles with her nose close to the little wet spots. The bird pecked a crumb. The rain tapped on the roof.

Tap, tap, tap. And Mia breathed it all in.