By Dan Leonard

~800 words

 

The forest was always becoming.

Sketch liked to arrive before it had quite finished.

Every Tuesday morning, he looked out his window and smiled.

"That's different today."

Sketch packed his charcoal, his lunch, and his sketchbook.

Except his sketchbook was still sitting on his bed.

Luckily, Mole was already carrying it.

"You forgot the bringing part."

"So I did."

Sketch laughed.

"Do you know what time it is?"

Mole rested one paw on the earth.

"Too early to know."

"Then we'd better go find out."

Together, they started toward the berry meadow.

 

The meadow never looked exactly the same twice.

Some mornings it wore butterflies.

Some mornings wind.

Today, it wore light.

Sketch balanced his sketchbook on his tail and watched sunlight slip through a tiny drop of dew.

For one moment, the drop held a rainbow.

Sketch drew one careful line.

Then another.

The light changed.

The dew disappeared.

Sketch sighed.

"I wasn't finished. Again."

Mole looked at the long winding trail home.

He listened.

 

The next Tuesday, Mole brushed aside a patch of ferns.

Beneath them was a tunnel.

"I've used it for years," Mole said. "I've just never walked through it with a friend."

Sketch smiled.

"That's different today."

Beneath the roots, Sketch discovered another forest.

Roots twisted together like old friends.

Tiny ribbons of morning slipped through the earth.

"I didn't know," Sketch whispered.

"I know," said Mole.

A circle of light appeared.

 

One more step...

and they were in the meadow.

The dew was still there.

The butterfly was still there.

"We're early!" Sketch cried.

"Nope," said Mole.

"We're right on time."

Sketch hurried to the little dew drop.

Then stopped.

He watched.

He wondered.

He drew.

And finally...

"Finished."

Mole smiled.

 

The next Tuesday, Rabbit saw Sketch and Mole disappear beneath the ferns.

She counted.

Then raced the old trail.

Sketch and Mole arrived seven minutes sooner.

Rabbit wrote:

7 MINUTES QUICKER.

She tapped her pencil.

"I'd better count that again."

 

 

The next Tuesday, Rabbit waited.

"May I?"

Mole brushed aside the ferns.

"Come see our morning."

Rabbit meant to count every step.

She forgot.

 

 

Fox studied the tunnel.

"I wonder what else it could do."

Then he strengthened a sagging root.

Turtle found a puddle and added two flat stones.

"That should help somebody."

Melody heard laughter beneath the earth.

She tilted her head.

“I haven’t heard that before.”

Then she flew down to follow it.

Soon the tunnel became part of Tuesday.

Others noticed.

Each wondered.

Each entered.

Each was welcomed.

 

 

One Tuesday, Sketch stopped beside the ferns.

Many feet had polished the path smooth.

"That's different today."

Inside, Mole rested one paw on the ground.

"The earth feels different."

Sketch touched it too.

"It does."

They continued to the meadow.

The dew was there.

The light was there.

But the butterfly wasn't.

"Do you ever feel we're missing something?"

Mole closed his eyes.

"Not missing."

He smiled.

"Still noticing."

A different butterfly drifted past.

 

 

The next Tuesday, someone was waiting at the tunnel.

"After you," Mole said.

"We'll all get there," Sketch replied.

The Tuesday after that, the line was longer.

By the time Sketch reached the meadow, only one tiny bead of dew remained.

He watched its last sparkle disappear into the grass.

"I'll see you next time."

 

 

The meadow filled with laughter.

Sketch loved having his friends there.

But he missed the early morning.

Mole did too.

 

 

The following Tuesday, everyone waited.

Turtle arrived last.

As usual.

He looked at the line.

Then the sun.

Then the meadow.

"Well..."

Everyone waited.

"...the morning didn't get any longer."

Rabbit opened her notebook.

Seven minutes quicker.

Six minutes.

Five minutes.

Sunny.

Cloudy.

Windy.

"Oh."

 

 

"What?" asked Fox.

"The morning isn't one thing."

She looked at Sketch.

"You don't just love the morning."

She smiled.

"You love a moment."

Sketch looked toward the meadow.

He closed his eyes.

There it was—

rainbow light bursting through a drop of dew,

the whole forest exploding into color inside him.

Sketch opened his eyes.

"I know which moment."

 

The next Tuesday, Sketch knew when to go.

Rabbit came first.

She measured the first birdsong.

Fox came next.

He watched long shadows solve impossible-looking problems.

Sketch and Mole arrived while the dew was still waiting.

Sketch watched the light enter the little drop.

Mole smiled at Sketch.

Melody came when the forest was full of music.

Turtle came last.

Just as he always had.

He smiled at the quiet path.

"It waited for me."

"Again."

 

Sketch balanced the sketchbook on his tail.

He opened it.

He looked at the dew.

At Rabbit.

Fox.

Melody.

Turtle.

Mole.

Then he began to draw.

Not just the dew.

Not just the light.

Not just one friend.

He drew Tuesday...

becoming.

Mole leaned closer.

"Finished?"

Sketch looked at the page.

Then out across the forest.

He smiled.

"Not yet."