Bram the Little Frog and the Quiet of the Pond
On a big green lily pad, in the middle of a warm and muddy pond, there lived a little frog named Bram — and Bram loved to be busy.
All day long, Bram hopped. He leaped from lily pad to lily pad, splish, splash. He caught buzzing flies with his quick pink tongue, snap. He puffed out his throat and sang his froggy song, ribbit, ribbit, ribbit, as loud as any frog in the whole pond. Bram was never, ever still.
But as the evening came, and the sky turned soft and pink, something began to change in the pond. One by one, the busy sounds of the day began to hush.
The buzzing flies settled quietly onto the reeds. The splashing fish grew calm and slow. And all around the pond, the other frogs began to sing more softly — ribbit… ribbit… slower now, and gentler — a low and sleepy evening song.
But Bram didn't want to slow down. "I'm not tired," he said, hopping in a circle on his lily pad. "There's still splashing to do! There's still singing to sing!"
His grandfather, a big old frog with kind and heavy eyes, floated closer on a broad green leaf. "Listen, little Bram," he rumbled softly. "The pond is singing its goodnight song. Can you hear it?"
Bram stopped hopping, just for a moment, and listened. And he could. The whole pond was humming a low, slow lullaby — the gentle ribbit of the frogs, the soft hush of the reeds, the quiet lap of the water against the bank. It was the most peaceful sound he had ever heard.
"Now," said Grandfather, "let your busy legs go still. Let your loud voice go soft. And sing the goodnight song with us."
So Bram settled down on his warm lily pad. He let his hopping legs go quiet. He let his song grow soft and low — ribbit… ribbit… slower, and softer, and sleepier — until it was just a whisper.
And rocked by the gentle goodnight song of the whole quiet pond, the little frog closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep beneath the first bright stars.