Once upon a time, in a town called Harmony, the National Weather Service forecast the possibility of "hen egg size hail." Meanwhile, the cottagers went about their business: first, washing dishes and then watching Smokey and the Bandit on Netflix. It was a terrible movie, except for the basset hound and Jerry Reed's red bell bottoms. Afterwards, when the cottagers went to bed, the storm arrived. But the hail was not hen-egg-sized, and no greenhouse windows were broken. In the morning, a thrush trilled, and a rooster crowed, just as they usually did. And one of the cottagers lay awake in her too-hot bed thinking of seven-league boots and wallets of food that are never empty. Not that she wanted to go anywhere or eat anything: merely the items struck her as something that, perhaps, she used to possess and then lost in the rain or forgot on the back corner of a cellar shelf. How sad, to lose the wallet and the seven-league boots. All she has left is the rooster; and, come September, he'll be in the stewpot.