A Very Small Puddle
A very small puddle lived in a quiet little garden at the end of a sleepy street.
It sat between two smooth grey stones, right beneath the old oak tree. It was not very wide. It was not very deep. But it had the most beautiful, silvery shine, like a tiny mirror for the sky.
The puddle had been left behind after a soft spring shower, many days ago. The sun had smiled, the wind had played, and most of the water had quietly gone away, but this little puddle stayed.
It waited, and it waited, and it waited some more.
The Visitors Who Came By
One morning, a little robin hopped near the puddle and looked inside.
“Hello, puddle,” chirped the robin, “You look all shiny today.”
The puddle rippled just a tiny bit, as if it were smiling.
The robin splashed her feathers gently, one, two, three little splashes. Then she flew away, all clean and fresh.
A little brown snail came next. He did not splash. He only looked at his own shell in the puddle’s glassy surface and said, “Oh my! I did not know my shell was so lovely.”
And then, on tiny tiptoe feet, a small white butterfly landed at the puddle’s very edge, just long enough to take one sip of water, then floated away like a petal on a breeze.
Every visitor left happy, and still, the little puddle waited.
The Long, Warm Wait
Days passed, slow and warm. The sun stretched its golden arms wider and wider each afternoon.
The puddle grew a little smaller. Its edges pulled in, just a little, but it did not hurry. It did not worry. It simply stayed, still and calm, between its two smooth stones.
“Will the rain ever come back?” wondered the puddle, softly.
The oak tree above rustled its leaves gently, as if to say, “Be patient, little one, good things take time.”
So the puddle waited some more. It reflected the clouds when they drifted by. It kept a little worm cool in the heat. It let a ladybird rest on the stone beside it and see her own red wings reflected back at her.
It kept on being helpful, even while it waited.
The Night the Clouds Came
One evening, the sky turned a soft, bruised purple. The wind came back, not rough or grumpy, just cool and gentle.
The puddle felt it first. A tiny shiver moved across its surface.
Then, pat, a raindrop landed right in the middle of the puddle.
Then pat, pat, pitter-pat.
The rain had come home at last! Round little rings danced and bounced on the puddle’s face. The puddle grew and grew. It stretched past its stones. It reached the roots of the old oak tree. It spread across the path and trickled all the way to the garden gate.
The puddle that had been so small and so still was now a beautiful, wide, sparkling lake, at least, it felt that way to the ants and the beetles and the little snail.
The Puddle That Waited for Rain, And Was Glad It Did
The next morning, the sun came out again, bright and cheerful. There, between the two smooth grey stones, and all the way to the garden gate, was the most glorious puddle the garden had ever seen.
The robin came back and splashed and sang. The butterfly drank her fill. Two new frogs arrived and said it was the finest puddle in the whole neighbourhood. Even the old oak tree seemed to stand a little taller, its roots refreshed and cool.
And the little puddle? It shone. It sparkled. It was so very full of joy that it rippled every time a breeze passed by.
The puddle that waited for rain had not waited in vain. All those quiet, sunny days, all those little visitors it had welcomed and helped, they had made the waiting sweet.
And now, full to the brim with fresh rain and happy memories, the puddle smiled its biggest, shiniest, rippliest smile.
✦ Moral of the Story: While you wait for what is coming, keep being kind, because waiting with a warm heart makes the good things, when they arrive, feel even more wonderful.✦