The Hot Chocolate Comet

Once a year, on a very particular evening in November, the Hot Chocolate Comet passes by.

Most people miss it. This is partly because it's not very big, and partly because it tends to arrive when most people are already in pyjamas. But Stella the star always watches for it, and Moonie the moon always watches with her.

"There," whispered Moonie, pointing. "There it is."

It came along the horizon in a slow gentle arc. A small bright comet, no bigger than a soup bowl, leaving a trail behind it that was — quite unmistakably — the warm brown of a fresh cup of cocoa.

"Smells like marshmallows," said Stella, who was very particular about smells.

"It is marshmallows," said Moonie.

The comet curved up over the trees and stopped, for just a moment, above a small window in a small house in a small town. A puff of warm steam fell — slowly, slowly, the way things fall in the sky — and landed gently on the windowsill.

When the night-watcher who lived in that house came back from her walk, she found, on her windowsill, a single perfect cup of cocoa with three marshmallows on top.

"Thank you, comet," she said, to no one in particular, because the comet was already gone.

She took the cup inside, sat in her favorite chair, and drank it slowly, the way warm things should be drunk.

Up in the sky, Stella twinkled approvingly. Moonie yawned.

"Same time next year?" said Stella.

"Always," said Moonie, who never missed it.