It was a hot August day. So hot that even the mischievous wind seemed to have decided not to show up.
Motty was surveying the fragrant garden from the roof of his tiny house, hidden deep in the tall grass, when he spotted bright red berries gleaming like precious gems. Strawberries. Huge ones.
He immediately imagined himself sitting right there on the roof, enjoying the cool green view, eating them with cold cream he had stored in the cellar the day before.
Without a second thought, he pulled on his red boots and set off on his quest.
He examined each berry carefully. Finally, he chose the reddest, firmest, heaviest one. Bursting with impatience, he balanced it on his head and hurried home, holding it steady with both hands.
As he walked, he began to hear a muffled sound nearby. A faint voice. Grumbling. It seemed to follow him through the grass. Motty slowed down, curious, peering between the blades, trying to figure out who was making such a fuss. He was so distracted that he didn't notice the green grasshopper until it leaped right out of the grass, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Motty stumbled, grabbed the strawberry just in time, and hurried on.
The day was already fading into evening when he finally returned home. He stepped inside, placed the strawberry carefully on the table, and heard it clearly now — a grumbling voice coming from inside the berry.
He turned it over and saw a small hole on the underside. He hadn't noticed it before. And from that hole, a striped caterpillar with a bib, slightly stained with strawberry juice, crawled out. It was Mrs. Sontik.
She gave Motty an offended look and announced that it was terribly rude to join a meal without an invitation.
"Next time, send a fruit fly with a note in advance," she said.
She folded her bib into a tiny handbag, turned away, and crawled off, leaving Motty staring at the hollow, half-eaten strawberry.
He sighed. He poured himself some cold cream, sat down heavily on his little bench, and took a small bite of what was left of the berry.
Motty was surveying the fragrant garden from the roof of his tiny house, hidden deep in the tall grass, when he spotted bright red berries gleaming like precious gems. Strawberries. Huge ones.
He immediately imagined himself sitting right there on the roof, enjoying the cool green view, eating them with cold cream he had stored in the cellar the day before.
Without a second thought, he pulled on his red boots and set off on his quest.
He examined each berry carefully. Finally, he chose the reddest, firmest, heaviest one. Bursting with impatience, he balanced it on his head and hurried home, holding it steady with both hands.
As he walked, he began to hear a muffled sound nearby. A faint voice. Grumbling. It seemed to follow him through the grass. Motty slowed down, curious, peering between the blades, trying to figure out who was making such a fuss. He was so distracted that he didn't notice the green grasshopper until it leaped right out of the grass, nearly knocking him off his feet.
Motty stumbled, grabbed the strawberry just in time, and hurried on.
The day was already fading into evening when he finally returned home. He stepped inside, placed the strawberry carefully on the table, and heard it clearly now — a grumbling voice coming from inside the berry.
He turned it over and saw a small hole on the underside. He hadn't noticed it before. And from that hole, a striped caterpillar with a bib, slightly stained with strawberry juice, crawled out. It was Mrs. Sontik.
She gave Motty an offended look and announced that it was terribly rude to join a meal without an invitation.
"Next time, send a fruit fly with a note in advance," she said.
She folded her bib into a tiny handbag, turned away, and crawled off, leaving Motty staring at the hollow, half-eaten strawberry.
He sighed. He poured himself some cold cream, sat down heavily on his little bench, and took a small bite of what was left of the berry.
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The Tasty burden
Drop a Coin in the Well
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