Noah and the Frosty Pond

A small house sat beside a pond that froze into a new pattern every night. Nobody thought that was strange. It was just the pond.

Noah stood in the bathroom in his sock feet. Beside him sat his very own potty, green, with a frog painted on the front. Today he wanted to use it all by himself, before Grandpa's kettle boiled.

"Kettle's on!" Grandpa called from the kitchen. "Take your time, Noah."

Noah did not want to take his time. He wanted to be quick.

He sat down. The potty was cold. He waited.

Nothing happened.

He wiggled. He hummed a bumblebee song. He squeezed his fists tight and made his face go red.

Still nothing. "Not yet," said Noah to the frog.

From the kitchen came a little tick-tick-tick, the sound of the kettle getting warm.

Noah tried something different. He stood up, sat down, and leaned very far forward, like a runner in his sneakers. Nothing again. His tummy felt tight and his toes felt cross.

Then he looked up at the window.

The pond was out there, shining in the morning. Last night it had frozen into swirls, round and round like icing on a cookie. Noah followed one swirl with his eyes. In, in, in, all the way to the center.

He forgot to squeeze. His shoulders went soft. His toes uncrossed.

Plink.

Noah looked down. Plink, plink, plinkity-plink!

"Oh!" he whispered. "Frog, did you hear that?"

The frog did not say anything. But from the kitchen came a long, high whistle, right at that very moment, as if the kettle were cheering. Noah laughed so hard he nearly slid off the seat.

"Is that you, Noah?" Grandpa called.

"It's me!" said Noah. "And the kettle was late!"

Out in the window the swirl sat still and silver. In the kitchen the whistle sighed down to a hush, and the water began to pour.