Clover and the Puddle Foal

Clover found a foal standing in the puddle—and it had the very same white spot on its forehead.

She stopped beside the fence. The rain had ended, and the grassy paddock smelled fresh and green. Drops clung to the fence rails. In the shallow puddle, the little foal stood as still as Clover.

“Hello!” Clover called.

The foal’s mouth opened, too. But no sound came out.

Clover leaned closer. The foal leaned closer. Clover tipped her head to the left. The foal tipped its head to the left.

“Oh!” Clover said. “You know how to play my game.”

She lifted her right hoof. The puddle foal lifted its right hoof. Clover gave a happy snort. She had never met a foal who copied so quickly.

Her mother, Fern, was grazing near the far end of the paddock. Clover wanted to tell her about the new visitor, but first she wanted to greet the foal properly.

Clover took a small step toward the puddle. The foal stepped toward her, too—or so it seemed. Clover put one hoof into the water.

Plip!

Ripples spread across the puddle. The foal’s face stretched into wavy stripes. Its white spot wobbled like a tiny moon on a pond. Then the whole foal vanished.

Clover pulled her hoof out. “Wait! Where did you go?”

The water quivered and settled. Slowly, the foal appeared again, ears first, then eyes, then that familiar white spot.

Clover’s ears perked up. “There you are!”

She tried a little bow. The foal bowed. She tried a hop. The foal hopped—though it looked as if it landed right on its nose. Clover giggled.

“I’ll come say hello,” she promised. “Just one more step!”

She moved toward the water, careful as a kitten. The foal came closer, too. Clover’s hoof touched the puddle, and the foal broke into wiggly pieces.

Clover blinked at the empty water. The greeting would have to wait until she figured out how to keep her new friend from disappearing.

Clover stood back from the puddle. The foal slowly came together again as the ripples faded.

“Maybe you’re shy,” Clover said. “I can be quiet.”

She tiptoed along the edge. The foal tiptoed, too. Clover raised her chin. The foal raised its chin. She stretched one leg behind her and made a grand, wobbly pose. The foal did the same.

Clover smiled. “You really are good at copying!”

Then she tried another step toward the water. The foal seemed to step with her. Clover’s hoof touched the puddle, and once again the little face broke apart. A ring of ripples ran all the way to the muddy edge.

Clover stayed standing on the grass. She wanted to greet her friend, but rushing closer only made the visitor disappear. Perhaps the puddle foal did not like splashing. Clover looked at the grass, the fence, and the clouds gathered above the paddock.

A breeze moved the tall grass. Clover’s forelock fluttered. When she moved it away from her eyes, the foal moved its forelock, too. Clover blinked. She tried lifting one ear, then the other. The foal’s ears lifted in exactly the same order.

Clover stopped moving.

The foal stopped, too.

She held still and watched. The water became smooth. The little face grew clear again, with bright eyes, a soft brown coat, and one white spot on its forehead.

Clover tilted her head just a little. The foal tilted its head just a little. Clover smiled. The foal seemed to smile back—but only because Clover was smiling.

“Every move I make,” Clover whispered, “you make, too.”

She looked at her own hooves, then at the foal’s hooves in the water. Clover lifted one hoof without touching the puddle. The foal lifted the same hoof.

Now Clover understood. The visitor was not another foal hiding in the water. The still puddle was showing Clover herself, just as a window could show what stood in front of it. When Clover moved the water, ripples made her picture wavy and hid it.

Clover stayed at the edge. She gave the foal a slow nod. The foal nodded back. This time, Clover did not rush to follow it. She simply watched her own face rest on the quiet water.

Then she touched the puddle with one hoof. The image shimmered away, and Clover let out a small, pleased huff. She had figured out what she was seeing—and learned its secret.

Clover stepped away from the puddle, leaving its water to settle. The little foal returned, ears first, then eyes, then the white spot that matched her own. Clover stood quietly and gave it one more slow nod.

The foal nodded back.

“Goodbye for now,” Clover said. She did not expect an answer, and she did not need one. The foal was right there whenever the water was still, and it would copy her whenever she moved.

Across the paddock, Fern lifted her head. “Clover, are you ready to come in?”

“I met someone by the fence,” Clover called. “It looks just like me!”

Fern walked over, her hooves pressing little marks into the damp grass. Clover showed her the puddle. Fern stood beside her, and two horses appeared in the water: a tall mare and a small foal.

Clover looked up at her mother. “It copies you, too!”

Fern gave a slow nod. In the puddle, the mare nodded right back.

Clover laughed. Then Fern brushed her nose against Clover’s cheek. They turned toward the warm barn together. Behind them, the puddle held the fence and the pale evening sky. A small breeze crossed the grass, but Clover did not hurry back to check. She knew the water would show what stood beside it when it grew still again.

Inside the barn, Fern settled into the straw. Clover tucked herself beside her mother, close enough to feel the steady warmth of her coat. Outside, the last raindrops fell from the fence rails, one by one, into the grass.

Clover’s eyelids grew heavy. She thought of the funny foal who bowed, hopped, and nodded just like her. She thought of the paddock, freshly washed, and the quiet puddle beside the fence.

The breeze eased. The water grew calm once more, holding the sky like a little blue blanket.

Clover rested her head against Fern and listened to the familiar sounds of the barn. Her mother stood nearby, and the night settled gently over the paddock. Clover felt happy with her new discovery, safe beside Fern, and ready for sleep.