Wednesday
Waffle’s Soft Path
Roostlings — Seven Little Goodnights

Dax and Waffle were coming home from the Wood. It was still light enough to see every turn in the path. Fig walked with them, carrying an empty basket. They had taken some apples to the Farmer. Now the basket was light, and their little visit was finished.

Waffle usually liked to find things. A fallen feather. A track in the soft earth. A berry hiding underneath a leaf. Tonight, Dax had a different idea. “Shall we notice places where things can rest?” he asked. Waffle tipped his feathered head and gave a quiet chirrup.

They began beside an old tree. There was a smooth hollow between two roots. In the hollow lay three leaves. Nobody had tucked them there. The breeze had laid them down, one at a time. Now the leaves were still. “A bed for leaves,” Dax murmured.

A little farther on, a snail rested beneath a broad green leaf. Its shell was round and brown, with a soft curl around the middle. Dax stayed on the path. Waffle stayed beside him. They did not pick the snail up. Its little roof was already just right.

Fig waited while they looked. Then all three walked on together. They took no leaves and no shells. The resting places could stay where they were. Dax’s hands were empty. Waffle’s small feet moved gently over the earth. The basket swung a little, and then a little less.

At the edge of the Wood, the path became wider. Moss grew beside a flat stone. Dax crouched to look at its tiny green fronds. They made a cushion for a bead of water. The bead sat quietly in the middle, holding a small piece of the sky.

“That can rest here,” said Dax. Fig nodded. Waffle lowered his nose, then lifted it again. There was nothing to search for tonight. They knew where everyone was. The sheep were at the Farm. The other friends were at the Roost. And the Roost was just ahead.

Through the garden gate, Dax could see the bench. Through the open door, he could see the rug. Beyond the rug, he could see the low shelf where his favourite wooden animals belonged. Each familiar thing was waiting in its familiar place.

He put a wooden lamb beside a wooden tree. The lamb did not need to walk across the shelf tonight. It could stand quietly beneath the little branches. Waffle watched. Then he turned towards the soft nest Fig had made for him, close to Dax’s bed.

“Would you like the round cushion?” Dax asked. Waffle brushed it gently with his nose. Dax put it beside the nest. Waffle curled around it, with his tail resting along his side. One feather settled over another. Then all his feathers were still.

Dax lay down and remembered the path. The hollow holding leaves. The leaf sheltering the snail. The moss holding its bead of water. He did not need to picture them all at once. They could come into his thoughts slowly, and leave slowly, too.

Now there was one more resting place. A soft blanket. A familiar pillow. A small friend nearby. Dax let his cheek rest against the pillow and heard Fig set the empty basket on the shelf.

No more carrying. No more looking. The path had brought them home.

Outside, the leaves rested between the roots. Inside, Waffle rested beside Dax.

All here. All home. Goodnight.

Developed with AI under Luc Schurgers’s direction. Audio narration: OpenAI Marin (AI voice).
