Poppy and the Reed Corner

Poppy was the librarian of a little library beside a duck pond, and she was the only librarian anywhere who hummed a song to every book before she put it on the shelf.

Her favourite corner was by the window, where the reeds grew close. It had a soft cushion, a small lamp, and a view of floating leaves. Every evening the ducklings waddled in, and Poppy hummed them her bedtime song. They were always asleep before the last note.

Tonight she sat down on the cushion and began. The tune went up, and down, and round the bend, and then it stopped. The ending was gone.

"Oh dear," said Poppy. The ducklings would be here any minute. She hummed louder, and it sounded like a squeaky gate. She hummed it backwards. That was worse.

A wren landed on the windowsill with a red button in her beak. In this part of the world, wrens carried small things from nest to nest, and never the same way twice.

"Do you know my song?" asked Poppy.

The wren put down her button and whistled a tune. It was bright and bouncy.

"Lovely," said Poppy, "but too jumpy. Mine is sleepy."

Old Mabel the duck paddled up to the window and tried an ending with a big quack on the end.

"Nearly," said Poppy, "but no. Mine has no quack in it."

Outside, plip, plip, plip, the ducklings were coming up the path. Poppy looked at the pond. She was out of ideas, so she just listened.

The wind came across the water. The reeds leaned over and rustled, swish, swish, and then they sank into a low, slow, falling sigh.

Poppy sat up straight. That was it. She had learned the ending here, from the reeds, a long time ago.

She hummed the tune up, and down, and round the bend. Then she let her voice fall into the sigh, right to the very end.

The ducklings tumbled onto the cushion in a fluffy heap. The wren tucked her head under her wing, beside her red button. Mabel's eyes closed. Outside, the reeds went on humming, soft and low, and the lamp glowed on the dark window.