Tovi’s Button of Rain — Every day, before the dragonflies stitched silver over Willowbend Pond, Tovi nudged a plain brown coat button beneath the hollow log. Read the full story →
Every day, before the dragonflies stitched silver over Willowbend Pond, Tovi nudged a plain brown coat button beneath the hollow log. It had fallen from his mother’s old angler’s jacket, and Tovi tapped it once for rain, once for luck, then chased minnows through the cool green shadows. One bright morning, the button was gone. In its place, a crayfish claw pointed toward the hatchery gate, where water hissed like a kettle.
Tovi shot past cattails and lily stems. The gate chain had jammed, trapping a cloud of tiny fry in a shallow side pool that smelled of warm mud. Because the button fit the rusty chain ring exactly, Tovi wedged it in and twisted with his whole body. Because of that, the gate lurched open; because of that, fresh water thundered through, carrying the fry into the deep. “Go, go, go!” Tovi bubbled, though no one could hear him over the rush.
By noon the pond was quiet again, except for plip-plip bubbles under the lily bloom. Tovi’s button stayed in the gate, holding it wide. He swam home with nothing to tap but the hollow log’s smooth rim, and somehow it sounded like rain. Next time you notice the big bass near the lilies, see if you can spot the place where his button of rain is still doing its job.
