The Little Green Door

"I want to see what's behind it," said Noah, and he pressed his nose to the little green door at the bottom of the garden.

The door was small, just Noah's size. It had a round brass knob and a keyhole shaped like a leaf. Noah had been looking at it for three whole days.

Today he had a plan. He took the knob in both hands and turned. Nothing happened. He pushed. He pushed again. The door did not move.

"Open, please," said Noah.

The door stayed shut.

Noah sat down on the grass. Then he looked at the keyhole. A leaf-shaped keyhole needed a leaf-shaped key. He looked around the garden. There was a rusty weathervane on a pole, and it was pointing at the old apple tree.

Noah knew about the weathervane. It always pointed at whatever was lost. Nobody in the garden thought that was strange. It was just what weathervanes did.

"Pointing at the tree," Noah said. "Okay."

He ran to the apple tree and looked under it. He found a red ball and half a cookie. No key. He looked up. Something shiny hung from a low branch, swinging on a bit of string. It was a key shaped like a leaf!

Noah stood on his toes, jumped, and jumped again. He could not reach it. So he fetched his backpack, set it under the branch, and climbed up. Now his fingers could just catch the string.

He ran back to the door and slid the key into the keyhole. It turned with a soft click.

The door swung open, and a warm wind came through. It smelled like rain and peaches. Noah saw a path of round white stones, and the path was humming.

Hmmmm, went the stones, hmmmm, under his sneakers.

Noah took one step, and then another. Behind him, the weathervane gave a happy squeak and turned to point at the door. Ahead, the stones kept humming, and the path went on and on.