Pip and the Sleepy Puddle

Down at Polka-Dot Pond, the evening was turning soft and blue. The lily pads swayed like little rocking chairs, and the very last sunbeam packed its bags and slipped behind the hills.

Pip the polka-dot frog hopped along the mossy bank, his spots glowing a gentle green. “One more splash!” he said. “Just one more splash before bed!”

But when Pip reached his favorite puddle, something surprising happened. The puddle… yawned. A slow, rippling, sleepy yawn that wrinkled the water from edge to edge.

“Excuse me,” said Pip politely, “puddles don’t yawn.”

“This one does,” whispered the puddle, in a voice like rain on leaves. “I have been splashed in all day long, little frog. The ducks paddled. The beetles bathed. Even the moon is floating in me right now — look.”

Pip looked. Sure enough, the round white moon lay right in the middle of the puddle, rocking gently, half asleep already.

“If you splash now,” the puddle murmured, “you’ll wake the moon. And a moon that hasn’t slept gets terribly grumpy by morning.”

Pip thought about that. He thought about how HE felt when someone woke him mid-dream — all tangled and cross. He looked at his reflection, and his glowing spots dimmed to their softest, kindest light.

“Then I will splash tomorrow,” Pip whispered. “Goodnight, puddle. Goodnight, moon.”

He tucked himself under a lily pad, pulled a maple leaf up to his chin, and listened to the pond hum its low evening song. Somewhere nearby, the puddle sighed happily, smooth as glass.

And the moon, warm and well-rested, saved its very brightest beam for Pip — ready for tomorrow’s splash.