The tadpoles were in bed and Mike sat on his favorite lily pad looking up at the moon.
He enjoyed that time of day.
George glided over. He liked to skirt the edge of the pond looking for snails. A tuft of weeds jerked up and down in his beak as he chewed. George was a duck.
George didn’t care for frogs, as food, and so they could be friends. Continue reading Goodnight Pond
As Dr. Baskin strapped me in, her face was twisted uncharacteristically, but I couldn’t tell what emotion it conveyed. Was she holding back tears or just concentrating on getting the tension right? When she was done she paused, which in itself was strange in the midst of the efficient, hyper-kinetic whirlwind of preparations that were underway. A smile flickered across her face. “Little monkey,” she breathed, before looking at her watch and turning away suddenly as if sucked back into the machinery of launch preparation. Continue reading Little Monkey