Della Waits for Rain — Every day, under the droopy clouds, Della marched the creek meadow with her red boots: squelch, splat, squelch. Read the full story →
Every day, under the droopy clouds, Della marched the creek meadow with her red boots: squelch, splat, squelch. She wanted to hear the old tin rain gauge ring, so she waited beside the cattails while water ticked on her umbrella like tiny silver seeds.
Until one day, the gauge stayed silent through a whole soft storm. Because of that, Della walked farther, past puddles smelling of mud and mint. Because of that, her umbrella handle bumped a stone and popped open at the end. Inside, rolled tight where nobody thought to look, was a thin brass reed.
“Ah,” Della whispered. She slid the reed into the rain gauge’s crack. At last it sang—not loud, but clear as a cricket bell. Next time you spot Della under her swirly umbrella, see if her smile is keeping time: squelch, splat, squelch.