The golden leaf spirals up from the meadow, curling tighter and tighter. It floats and floats into the soft, hazy sky. The grass below still sways, golden and quiet.
POP. The golden leaf hits Nu's soft belly and curls tight. "Bye-bye, tree," it whispers. Nu tucks it under her edge and holds on tight.
A little brown bird bumps right into Nu's side, wings drooping. "Bye-bye, summer," it chirps, and slides gently down. Nu lets it go, soft and slow.
Then the sunset peels up thin and orange, wrapping around Nu like a ribbon. She sags lower. The wind tugs, and she barely holds still.
Nu bounces. Bounces. Bounces. Low, low over the tall grass, their sharp tips scratching her soft bottom. Up and down, up and down she goes.
She puffs one long, long grey sigh into the cool air. "Oh no," she thinks, watching the meadow shrink to a tiny green patch far, far below.
Nu squeezes tight and puffs. One tiny silver drop slips out. Then another. Then the leaf, the bird, the ribbon — all tumbling down together.
The soft rain patters across the whole meadow. Where each tiny drop lands, a green sprout pops right up. One. Two. Three.
Nu floats up, light and pink, over the wide sparkling meadow. Everything is wet and new. The grass glows, studded with tiny drops of light.
A new little bird lands on a sprout, tilting its head. "Hi?" it says, small and careful. The world is so quiet after the rain.
Nu whispers "hi" back, soft as a cool breeze. Her edges glow faintly pink. She holds very still, so the bird can hear her.
Then the cool wind picks up, smelling like new grass. Nu drifts forward, forward, into the next golden morning. The meadow twinkles far, far below.
