Czech story world
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A little pot
In a village of red roofs, an old woman set a small clay pot on the windowsill. ‘This pot knows two words,’ she said. Flori leaned closer. Luna's ears went up.
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The first word
‘Hrnečku, vař!’ said the old woman—little pot, cook! And the little pot began to bubble all by itself, with warm sweet porridge.
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One bowl, two bowls
One bowl for Flori. One bowl for the old woman. A small saucer for Luna, cooled with one careful breath.
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The neighbours come
A neighbour smelled the porridge and came with her bowl. Then another, and another, until the whole lane was holding something to fill.
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Still cooking
But the little pot did not stop. Porridge rose up to the rim. It slid over the side and made a slow warm river down the doorstep.
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The second word
Flori remembered. ‘Hrnečku, dost!’ he said—little pot, enough! The bubbling slowed. The pot went quiet. Luna sat down in the sunshine.
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Enough is a good word
Everyone ate until they were warm and full, and there was still some left for tomorrow. ‘Dobrou noc,’ said Flori—goodnight. Even the little pot seemed to be sleeping.