Bakery Laughs

In the heart of the sleepy French town of Clermont-Ferrand, where the volcanic hills wore a soft mist each morning, lived Mademoiselle Claire, an elderly widow who ran the smallest bakery on Rue des Artisans. Her sourdough was average, her croissants slightly burnt, but her laugh — oh, her laugh — was a local treasure.

Children passed by each morning just to hear it. She’d chuckle at pigeons pecking at her window, giggle while kneading dough, and occasionally erupt into laughter mid-sale when she remembered a long-forgotten memory. “What’s so funny?” the townspeople would ask. She’d shrug, “Just a bubble of joy from nowhere.”

But as seasons changed, Claire’s laughter slowly faded. Her back ached more. Fewer customers came. And one December morning, for the first time, the bakery opened in silence.

That afternoon, a prankster boy named Jules tossed a snowball through her half-open window. It splattered onto her face and apron. Silence followed — then, a low chuckle, rising like dough in an oven, spilling into roaring laughter.

Jules, startled, ran in to apologize. But Claire only handed him a warm pain au chocolat. “You just gave me back my voice,” she said.

Word spread. Soon, the bakery was filled not for its pastries, but for the joy. School kids told jokes. An old violinist played silly tunes. A mime performed just to see her laugh.

That winter, laughter echoed down Rue des Artisans again.

Moral:

Even the most ordinary day, when lit by genuine laughter, becomes unforgettable.

Inspiration:

The most wasted of all days is one without laughter. - Nicolas Chamfort