by Your NameDecember.4.2012

Where's my marble

The sun glinted brightly off the shimmering, dark, green leaves as a cute, red squirrel carefully clawed his way up to his home in the willow. His soft, short, red fur was dampened slightly with dew from the pale, green grass. It had rained lightly most of the night which left everything dripping. The red squirrel’s name was Tuff. Tuff shook himself twice before jumping elegantly into his home. His home was a tiny hollow in the willow filled mostly with dead leaves. Tuff hopped happily inside with a shiny, silver button clenched tightly in his mouth. Tuff was a very, intensive collector and there was nothing more important to him than his collection. He had gotten up early and searched patiently all morning for something new and had been well rewarded with the silver button. With a sweep of his bushy tail he swept some dead leaves aside. He fully revealed his collection. There was a paper clip, a couple of black stones, a blue earing, several pieces of stained glass, a car key and some, twisty wire but best of all the was a beautiful marble. The marble was shiny gold with silver stripes and pink swirls. Tuff gently placed his new button next to his paper clip and stepped proudly back to admire his collection. Suddenly he realized that his marble was gone. In a panic he worriedly examined every inch of his home. Awfully worried about his marble he sighed fretfully. What if he could not find his marble? What would he do then? So he climbed determinedly down the tree and

jumped swiftly past the huge trees,

peered unhurriedly around the neat feeder,

glanced calmly down the wide railing,

sniffed confusedly inside the wooden shed,

stopped hesitantly beyond the speckled grass,

gazed momentarily behind the tall fence,

rested briefly in a leafy bush,

snacked happily on the lovely maple seeds,

teared vigorously under the wrinkled leaves,

slumped quietly at the large stump,

perched firmly near an ancient oak,

walked slowly up the sunny lane,

snuffled roughly underneath the metal shelter,

rubbed stiffly outside a stone pillar,

rummaged busily amid the flower pot,

skidded hurriedly down the humungous red wood,

looked carefully through a wood stack,

bobbed suddenly above the mossy log,

peered interestedly within a tiny hole,

leaped coldly over the glittering rocks,

scampered quickly into a dusty tunnel,

creeped slowly alongside the purple blossoms,

shivered slightly aboard the damp table,

contemplated ineffectively between the two tree branch's,

bounded worriedly along the rocky shore,

paddled grumpily across the gurgling river,

climbed joyfully towards the pale light,

stared dreamily round the bright blue sky,

twitched noticeably about a seed bowl

and dropped disappointedly under the warm summer sun.

Tuff could not find his marble anywhere. He had looked over every thing and he dearly missed his marble, both it’s smooth touch and it’s wonderful smell of crunchy leaves. Tuff sat down and began to cry. He cried all the way back to the willow. When tuff reached the willow he climbed sadly up into his home. He curled tightly into a ball and pulled a lump of leaves towards him to use as a pillow. There was a strange noise when he pulled the leaves to him and when he tiredly placed his head on them something rolled away. Tuff jumped up and tossed leaves everywhere. As he pulled and tore viciously at the wrinkled dead leaves he fully exposed the shiny, pink, gold and silver marble that meant so much to him. He grabbed it lovingly. Once he had gotten over his joy Tuff happily hopped over to where his collection was, swept aside the dead leaves and gently placed his beautiful marble back where it belonged. It had been there all the time. “Think first!” thought Tuff. Carefully counting his belongings he suddenly realized that his sparkly button was gone. “I will find it,” thought Tuff to himself, “if I don’t panic and think first!”