The Night of a Thousand Ripples

A star fell into the pond just as Mica finished his last mouthful of leaves. He was sure of it. One moment the water was dark. The next, a bright point trembled near the reeds. “There!” he whispered. His sister Lumen did not look up. “That’s a reflection.” Mica knew about reflections, but this light seemed much too close and much too lively. It broke into pieces, gathered itself again, and slipped sideways across the pond.

The Diplodocus group had settled on a broad bank for the night. The adults stood or rested away from the soft edges, where the ground was firm. Mica wanted to investigate immediately. Their father stopped him at the reeds. “We observe from here. Night hides the places where the bank drops.” Mica peered across the dark water. The light vanished. He felt a small disappointment, followed by a larger question. Where had it gone?

Lumen joined him. She pointed upward, where one bright star had emerged between thin clouds. Then she pointed down. The pond brightened again. Mica moved his head to the left, and the star on the water seemed to follow. That was suspicious. He tried moving right. It followed again. “Perhaps it likes me,” he suggested. Lumen laughed. She was not laughing at him, he realised, but at the enjoyable possibility of a friendly star.

A tiny ring spread through the reflection. Another appeared beside it. Soon the light was shattered into a hundred bright flecks. Mica thought rain had started, but the sky above them was clear. His father asked what else might touch water from beneath or above. Mica listened. A faint splash came from the reeds. Something small moved under the surface. He could not identify it in the dark, and for once he decided not to guess.

They made a quiet game. Each would describe a change before offering an explanation. Lumen noticed long ripples arriving from the far side. Their father noticed the reeds bending a moment before the ripples reached them. A breeze touched Mica’s face. He watched the water roughen into dark, moving strips. This time he had a possible explanation that matched what he saw. The wind was making the pond wrinkled, like the skin around an old tree root.

Then the breeze stopped. Mica expected the star to become whole immediately, but the ripples kept travelling. Some crossed one another and made new patterns. He felt impatient. “Why doesn’t it stop?” His father said nothing for a moment. The three dinosaurs watched until the surface finally smoothed. “Things can keep changing after the push that started them,” he said. Mica thought about the morning when he had snapped at Lumen and stayed cross long after she had gone.

“I was grumpy earlier,” he told her. Lumen turned her head. This was not the discovery she had expected. “I noticed.” Mica looked at the ripples left by a falling leaf. “I’m sorry I blamed you for my branch breaking.” Lumen leaned close enough to touch his neck gently with hers. “Thank you.” The apology did not erase the whole day, but it made a little room around the unpleasant memory. They sat quietly in that room together.

More stars appeared. None had fallen, but the pond seemed full of them. Mica no longer needed one he could keep. He watched a cloud stretch across the sky and its darker reflection cross the water. He watched the moon rise beyond the conifers. When a small splash broke its bright path, he did not complain. The broken path was beautiful too. Lumen asked which discovery had been best. Mica could not choose.

At last their father led them back from the bank. Mica lay beside Lumen on firm, dry ground. He could still hear faint water sounds, each one changing a pattern he could no longer see. “Tomorrow we should look in daylight,” he murmured. Lumen agreed. The pond had not given him a fallen star. It had given him more questions than a whole sky could hold, and one conversation he was glad he had finally begun.