Milo and the Puddles

Milo the snail had always been a little bit afraid of rain.

Not of getting wet — snails don't mind wet. He was afraid of the sound of it: the heavy drumming on leaves, the rushing in the gutters, the way the whole world changed so suddenly and so quickly.

When dark clouds gathered, Milo always went home to his favourite spot under the hedge, tucked himself small, and waited quietly for it to be over.

One grey Tuesday morning, though, he was caught out in the middle of the garden — too far from the hedge to get back in time.

The rain began. Big, heavy drops.

Milo pulled into his shell. He waited.

He waited for quite a long time.

But as he waited, he heard something — a soft, rushing, splashing sound very close by. Different from the drumming. Gentler somehow.

He uncurled just enough to look.

Right beside him, in the hollow between two paving stones, a puddle had appeared. It was round and silver, and the rain was falling into it and making dozens of tiny circles that spread out and bumped into each other and disappeared, over and over.

Milo watched.

Then, very slowly, he reached out one foot and touched the edge of the puddle.

It was cool. And soft. And very, very gentle.

He moved forward a little. He was in the puddle.

The rain fell all around him and the little circles appeared everywhere and Milo realised, with great surprise, that it was actually rather wonderful.

When the rain stopped, he sat in the last of the puddle and looked at the brightening sky.

"I want it to rain again," he said to no one in particular.

On Wednesday morning, it did. And this time, Milo was already outside, waiting.