Nori’s Rainbow Pocket — Under the hushy cloud blanket, Nori sniffed for the sweet pop of dawnberries. None. Read the full story →
Under the hushy cloud blanket, Nori sniffed for the sweet pop of dawnberries. None. Only chilly mist tickled his nose. The best berries grew past the rainbow arch, where the wind went whoosh-whoosh between sky banks. Nori tucked his tiny claws close. “Just one berry,” he whispered.
He flapped out. The rainbow felt smooth and cool underneath, like a painted slide. Halfway across, a gust stole one blue scale from his tail. Nori almost turned back—then heard a soft plink from inside the rainbow’s lowest stripe. He pressed his ear to it.
Out rolled a little pocket of golden seeds, warm as toast and smelling like sunshine. Not berries. Better. Nori carried them home and planted them in his cloud hollow. By evening, dawnberry vines curled everywhere. If you peek beneath the rainbow next time, maybe you’ll find where Nori heard that tiny plink.
