Pip and a silver moth beside a closed moonflower in a moonlit garden

Pip and the Flower That Waited

The Moonflower Garden · Story 1
Ages 3 to 6 · About 3 minutes

Pip and a silver moth beside a closed moonflower in a moonlit garden

Every evening, Pip the little dormouse counted the flowers in his garden.

Three yellow daisies. Two purple bells. And one tightly closed moonflower.

“Perhaps you forgot to open,” Pip told it.

He gave it a little water, then sat on his moss cushion.

A silver moth settled beside him.

“Are you waiting too?” Pip asked.

“Yes,” said the moth. “But there are lovely things to see while we wait.”

She pointed toward a leaf.

A drop of water rested on its tip. Inside it, Pip could see a tiny moon.

He leaned closer.

Pip and the moth discover the moon reflected in a dewdrop

“A whole moon,” he whispered. “In such a little drop.”

Pip looked from the moon above to the moon below.

The moth waited quietly beside him.

A cool breeze moved through the leaves. Beyond the gate, a blackbird sang its last few notes.

Pip tucked his feet beneath him and breathed in the smell of damp earth.

His whiskers stopped twitching.

Then something stirred.

The tip of the moonflower loosened.

One petal unfolded. Then another.

Pip watched without making a sound.

Slowly, slowly, the flower opened into a wide white cup.

Pip rests beneath the open white moonflower

“Oh,” said Pip.

That was all he needed to say.

The moth floated toward the flower. Pip settled onto his moss cushion beneath the petals.

He had been so busy waiting that he had almost missed the evening around him.

Now he heard the leaves brushing together, the moth’s soft flutter, and Mama opening the cottage door.

“Bedtime, Pip.”

“I’m glad I waited,” he whispered.

He followed Mama along the garden path and into their warm little cottage.

Soon he was washed, changed, and nestled beneath his quilt.

Mama tucked it gently under his chin.

Mama tucks sleeping Pip into his cozy bed

“Was your cushion comfortable?” Mama asked.

“Very,” murmured Pip. “But this is even better.”

He wriggled his toes once beneath the quilt, then let them rest.

Through the round window, he could see a little patch of garden and the soft white moonflower.

Tomorrow there would be more flowers to count.

More little things to notice.

Tonight, there was only his warm bed and Mama sitting close.

“Good night, my little Pip.”

“Good night, Mama.”

Outside, the moonflower rested open.

Inside, Pip’s paws relaxed. His whiskers grew still.

And before the moon had crossed his window, he was asleep.

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