On the morning of the village fair, a shower slipped through the workshop window and covered Mrs. Squishy’s blueprint in blue puddles. Every measurement blurred. The neat drawing of a little reading bench became a map of wavy rivers.
Mr. Squishy wanted to redraw the whole thing. Little Miss Squishy asked whether a river could go through a bench. Mrs. Squishy looked at the old plank and the spare blue paint.
They built a seat with a winding painted line. Children followed it with their fingers while they listened to stories. Someone called it the River Bench. By sunset, it had become the busiest corner of the fair.
Mrs. Squishy kept the rain marked paper above her workbench. It reminded her that plans are tools, not cages.
A question to take with you