Micia’s adventures in the vegetable garden, the hayloft and the farmhouse attic.

• 18 October 2026 #9 Three Little Beaks Beneath the Porch The morning after the adventure in the tool shed, Micia found a little saucer Grandma had prepared on the windowsill. It held chick feed with tiny seeds for Franci’s chicks. She carried it beneath the porch. Grandpa’s bicycle was leaning against the wall beside the green door, its basket at the front and its bell shining in the sun. Franci and three little yellow balls of fluff were walking across the terracotta floor. Chicco arrived first, followed by the other two, who stopped at every gap between the tiles. Micia took a pinch of seeds and let them fall in front of her. All three chicks rushed to the same spot. One stretched its neck, another shuffled sideways, and Chicco kept finding himself behind their little tails. “Just a moment,” Micia said. “There’s room for everyone here, but you’re having your snack on a postage stamp.” Franci clucked softly, and the little ones turned towards her. Micia swept her paw a little farther. The seeds fell in a small fan across the floor, like a golden drizzle. This time each chick found its own space. Chicco lowered his beak, then promptly lifted his head, looking pleased. “Peep!” “I think he said delicious,” Micia translated. Franci watched with one wing held slightly away from her body. One chick followed a seed into the bicycle’s shadow, pecked it up and returned to the others. Micia sat beside the pillar with the saucer on her knees. She waited before scattering any more. From the courtyard came the rustle of the fig tree and the sound of Grandma shaking out a tablecloth. “Today the porch has three little musicians,” she thought. They only sang peep, but they never all came in together. Read the tale →

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