A Puddle beside the Grass Field

                                                                                                                  A Puddle beside the Grass Field
         Summer is the season of freedom and happiness. Its bright, tropical days will always triumph over winter’s dark, lonely afternoons. As summer blows warm breeze over the long-stretch of frozen land, it awakens life. Mammals come out of their hibernation to embrace a new beginning. Dormant trees soak in the rich sunlight to regrow and bud anew. The buzz of insects notifies distant birds that it is time to return home. During the summertime, everyone is busy to accomplish their goals before they are covered by another blanket of snow. It is this motivation that fills the world with exciting adventures. Even the tiniest of things has a wondrous tale behind it. 

         Glittering in the warm summer sunlight, a splash of water stood beside the grass field. The cookie crumbs calmly floating on the puddle were being collected by worker ants, whose jaws were only wide enough to carry half. The puddle was a miniature lake, and the ants merely fishermen: they caught more food than they could carry and toppled over. Some of the more adventurous ants even took a swim. Their six legs worked like powerful propellers, sailing through the lake. Everything was peaceful. However, on the surface of the puddle, it reflected a dark cloud creeping closer and sluggishly engulfing the sun. The ants, oblivious to the change, continued their work.

                Without warning, thousands of droplets were fired from the dark creature in the sky, and splattered into the puddle. Sensing the threat, the ants quickly crawled away until they disappeared into the horizon. The puddle instantly transformed into a vicious, juddering sea. And then, it happened. They came in hundreds; rulers of the underworld broke through the softened earth, and slithered their supple, pink bodies out of the soil. The storm rages heavily, bombarding the land below. The noise was deafening, and each explosion made a small crater in the mud. Nonetheless, this did not seem to affect the worms. They danced in the rain as if it was a celebration. Before long, they, too, noticed the puddle near the grass field, and it attracted many of them. They hopped into the puddle and little splashes were made. The violent waves did not appear to hurt them; it only added to the excitement. Through their eyes, that small body of water was the source of life.

                Suddenly, a single stream of sunlight pierced through the dark sky; more and more streams of sunlight followed. As quickly as the storm had begun, the sky was soon clear once again. The colours of the rainbow drifted down towards the earth. The smell of fresh cut grass and afternoon dew was everywhere. Many birds came out of their nests and sang loudly with a catchy rhythm. The worms were nowhere to be seen. The tiny mass of water became stagnant, and the sun gave it another shiny coat. Occasionally, birds would swoop down to drink from the sparkling puddle and then chirp in delight. Everything was peaceful.