The Badger Who Borrowed the Sea

How it begins

Mrs. Badger borrowed the sea on a Saturday.

Only a bucket.

She had asked politely and promised to bring it back before the tide noticed.

Her neighbor was homesick.

Mrs. Badger considered homesickness a problem best approached with tea, a chair and, where necessary, a manageable quantity of ocean.

The bucket sloshed beside her as she walked.

Inside it, three tiny waves practiced arriving on a pebble.

At the village gate, a puddle called her name.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Is that the sea?"

"A little."

"Could I come?"

Mrs. Badger looked at the puddle.

It had formed beneath a leaking gutter and had never been farther than the bakery wall.

"Would you like to see it?"

"Very much."

By the time she reached her house, eleven puddles were following her.

Mr. Heron stood beside the pond, watching the procession.

"You appear to have collected a weather system."

"They asked."

"They often do."

Mrs. Badger put down the bucket.

Her neighbor came to the door.

For a moment, his face brightened.

Then it became sad in a different way.

"I thought," he said, "it might sound like her."

Mrs. Badger sat on the step.

The little waves stopped practicing.

"Who?"

"My sister. We used to sit beside the sea."

Mrs. Badger looked at the bucket.

She had brought the right place and missed the person.

Mr. Heron folded his long legs beside them.

Behind him, the puddles waited with unusual patience.

"Could we visit?" Mrs. Badger asked.

Her neighbor looked toward the road.

"All of us?"

"If everyone wants to."

One puddle admitted it preferred the bakery.

Another wanted to remain under the gutter.

The bucket gave a small approving splash.

Mrs. Badger fetched her hat.

This time, before borrowing anything else, she asked where it hoped to go.