Pipkin Reed cracked out of the egg. The farmyard went still for one blink. Then the other ducklings tumbled away in a peeping, fluffy clump. Pipkin Reed looked at the white shell pieces and the muddy straw, then drifted down the winding path without a quack.
Past the tall reeds, through the summer grass, and along the silver pond, Pipkin Reed tried three places. The ducklings splashed together and left no room. Meadow birds burst up in a noisy flutter. Then a frog plopped into the water, and even Pipkin Reed's reflection wobbled away.
Pipkin Reed kicked a pebble. Blue dragonflies flashed over the pond. The air felt cooler now, but Pipkin Reed kept walking.
Leaves spun gold and red across the path. At the pond's smooth edge, a gust hissed through the reeds and cleared the water bright as a mirror. Pipkin Reed froze, stretched tall, and saw a graceful, gleaming shape looking back. Then a fish jumped with a silly splash, and the silver picture danced.
Winter light sparkled on the pond. Pipkin Reed glided out across the quiet water and left a bright V behind.
Again and again, Pipkin Reed dipped, turned, and circled back to the shining place. Now Pipkin Reed moved as if Pipkin Reed had always belonged there.
