Tuca and the Quiet River

By the edge of a slow, wide river, there was a warm flat stone. And on the warm flat stone sat a little capybara named Tuca.

Tuca was round and soft and brown. Her fur was the color of warm earth. She had a big, gentle nose and small, kind eyes that liked to close. More than anything in the world, Tuca loved to sit still.

She loved the warm stone beneath her. She loved the slow river beside her. She loved the way the evening came down soft and gold over the water.

All day long, Tuca did things slowly. She ate a little grass, slowly. She watched the water go by, slowly. She blinked her small, kind eyes, slowly.

Breathe in, she thought. Breathe out. Slow and warm. Slow and warm.

Now the sun was going down. The sky turned peach, then pink, then soft dusty blue. The river caught all the colors and carried them along, slow and shining.

A little breeze came by. It touched the tall green reeds. The reeds swayed this way and that, slow as a lullaby.

Tuca yawned a big, happy yawn. It was a good evening to be still.

Then, near the reeds, she heard a tiny sound. A soft little flutter. A wiggle. A small, tired sigh.

It was a little froglet. He was hopping this way and that. Hop, hop, hop. He could not seem to sit still at all.

"I want to sleep," said the froglet. "But my legs keep hopping. I can't find a cozy spot anywhere."

Tuca smiled her slow, kind smile. "Come here," she said softly. "Sit by me. I know a good way to be still."

The little froglet hopped over and sat down on the warm stone, right beside her.

"Now," said Tuca, "we breathe like the river. Slow and easy."

She took a long, slow breath in. The froglet took a breath in too. She let a long, slow breath out. The froglet let his breath out too.

Breathe in, slow. Breathe out, slow. Slow and warm. Slow and warm.

Little by little, the froglet's legs grew quiet. His eyes grew soft and heavy. He leaned against Tuca's warm side and gave a tiny, sleepy hum.

Soon other little friends came too.

A small, sleepy duckling paddled close. She climbed onto the stone and tucked her bill under her wing.

Two round beetles crawled up onto a leaf. They folded their little legs and went still.

And a firefly floated down out of the dark. It blinked, slow and gold, like a tiny falling star.

One by one, they all came to sit by Tuca. Because where Tuca sat, everything slowed down. Where Tuca sat, the world felt safe and warm.

"Look," whispered Tuca.

She turned her face up to the sky. The very first star had come out. It hung there, quiet and bright, in the soft, deep blue.

"The star is not in a hurry," said Tuca, slowly. "The river is not in a hurry. The big round moon is not in a hurry."

She breathed in, slow. She breathed out, slow.

"And neither are we," she said.

The little friends looked up too. The sky was filling, soft and slow, with more and more gentle stars. The river whispered along below them. The reeds swayed, slow and easy, back and forth, back and forth.

Nobody hopped. Nobody hurried. Everybody breathed, slow and warm.

The night was very gentle now.

The mist came up off the river, soft and white, like a warm blanket pulled up over the world. It wrapped around the warm stone. It wrapped around the froglet, and the duckling, and the two round beetles, and the little gold firefly.

And it wrapped around Tuca, round and warm and still.

The moon rose higher, round and silver. It laid a soft path of light across the slow, slow water. The path shone and shimmered, and then it grew still too.

Tuca's eyes were very heavy now.

The froglet was already fast asleep. So was the little duckling. So were the two round beetles. The firefly blinked once, and then twice, and then his little light went soft and dim, like a candle drifting off to sleep.

Breathe in, Tuca thought, slow. Breathe out, slow.

The river hushed. The reeds hushed. The whole warm night went quiet and still.

Tuca closed her small, kind eyes.

She was warm. She was safe. All her friends were snug beside her, breathing slow.

Slow and warm, she thought. Slow... and... warm...

And there, on the warm flat stone, by the slow, wide river, under the big silver moon, little Tuca the capybara drifted softly, softly off to sleep.

Goodnight, Tuca. Goodnight, little river. Goodnight, little friends. Goodnight.