After the rain, a puddle appeared on Maple Street.
Not a small puddle.
A big, round, impressively deep puddle right in the middle of the pavement.
His name was Splash.
Splash loved being a puddle.
Children jumped in him.
SPLASH.
Dogs drank from him.
Slurp slurp slurp.
Birds bathed in him.
Flap flap flap.
But Splash wanted more.
“I want to be a lake,” said Splash. 💧
🏙️ The Problem with Being a Puddle
“Lakes are ENORMOUS,” said Splash. “They have fish. And boats. And reflections of mountains.”
“You reflect the lamppost very nicely,” said a passing sparrow.
“A lamppost is not a mountain,” said Splash.
“No,” agreed the sparrow. “But you’re very good at it.”
Splash was not comforted.
He watched himself getting smaller as the morning went on.
The sun coming out. His edges retreating. Shrinking and shrinking.
“I’m disappearing,” said Splash. “Lakes don’t disappear.”
Oh no.
💧 The Drain That Got Blocked
But then.
A leaf fell.
Right into the drain.
Plop.
Then another leaf.
Plop.
Then a small twig and somehow a crisp packet and what appeared to be one very small sock.
The drain blocked.
The next rain came.
And the water had nowhere to go.
Splash grew.
And grew.
And GREW.
All the way across the pavement.
All the way to the wall.
All the way to the lamppost.
Splash was enormous.
💛 Theodore Arrives in Wellies
Theodore came around the corner in bright yellow wellies and stopped.
The puddle filled the whole street.
“Oh,” said Theodore.
And stepped in.
SPLASH.
Right to the ankle.
Then both feet.
Theodore looked down at the enormous, lamppost-reflecting, sky-showing, bird-bathing, dog-paddling, completely magnificent puddle.
“You’re like a lake,” said Theodore.
Splash rippled with joy.
It didn’t last — the drain was cleared by lunchtime and Splash shrank back to his usual size — but for one whole glorious morning, he had been exactly what he’d dreamed of.
A puddle can be a lake, if the conditions are right.
And Theodore’s wellies were soaked, which was also excellent. 💧