A story
Farah Tries to Catch the Fog in a Jar
When Farah woke up one autumn morning, something strange had happened to the world outside her window.
The garden was gone.
Well, not really gone. But she could not see the lemon tree. She could not see the swing. She could not even see the red gate at the end of the path. Everything was soft and white and cloudy, as if someone had tucked the whole garden under a big fluffy blanket.
"Baba!" Farah called. "Come and look! A cloud fell down into our garden!"
Her father came into the room with a cup of warm tea. He looked out of the window and smiled.
"That is fog," he said. "It does look like a cloud, doesn't it? Fog is a cloud that comes down to say hello to the ground."
Farah pressed her nose against the cool glass. "Can we go outside and touch it?"
"Put on your boots and your yellow coat," said Baba. "We will go together."
Farah hurried. She pulled on her boots, the wrong way round at first, then the right way. She buttoned her yellow coat. Then she had an idea. She ran to the kitchen and took an empty glass jar from the shelf. It had a shiny metal lid that twisted on and off.
"What is that for?" asked Baba.
"I am going to catch some fog," said Farah proudly. "Then I can keep it in my room forever, and look at it whenever I want."
Baba raised his eyebrows. "Well," he said, "let us see what happens."
They stepped outside. The air was cool and damp. It smelled of wet grass and earth and the lemons on the hidden lemon tree. Everything was very quiet. Even the birds seemed to be whispering.
Farah walked down the path. The fog swirled around her boots. When she looked back, the house was only a grey shape, like a drawing that someone had started and not finished.
"It's like walking inside a cloud," she said softly.
She unscrewed the lid of the jar. She held the jar high in the air and swooped it around, left and right, up and down. Then she quickly twisted the lid back on, tight, tight, tight.
She held the jar up to look.
It was empty. Just clear glass, with nothing inside at all.
Farah frowned. "Where did it go?"
She tried again. This time she ran through the thickest part of the fog, holding the jar open in front of her like a net. She screwed on the lid as fast as she could.
Empty again.
"Baba," she said, "the fog keeps escaping."
Baba knelt down beside her. "Let me tell you a secret about fog," he said. "Fog is made of tiny, tiny drops of water. They are so small and so light that they float in the air. There are millions of them all around us. But when you put just a few of them in a jar, they are too small to see."
Farah looked at the jar. "So there is fog in here?"
"A tiny bit," said Baba. "But fog only looks like fog when there is a whole sky full of it."
Farah was quiet for a moment. She felt a little disappointed. She had really wanted to keep the fog.
Then Baba pointed. "Look over there, by the gate."
Farah walked closer. Between two posts of the fence, there was a spider web. She had never noticed it before. But this morning, the web was covered with tiny drops of water. Each drop was round and shining, like a little glass bead. The whole web sparkled like a necklace.
"Oh," breathed Farah. "The fog made the spider web beautiful."
"The fog leaves little gifts everywhere," said Baba. "Can you find more?"
Farah looked around. Now she saw them. Drops of water hung from the tips of the grass, like tiny lamps. The rose petals were wet and shiny. On the swing, there was a soft silver coat of mist. When she touched the lemon tree, its leaves were cool and wet, and a drop slid down and plopped onto her nose.
Farah giggled. "The lemon tree is crying happy tears."
They walked all around the garden, finding fog gifts. There was a snail leaving a shiny trail across a wet stone. There was a bird bath full to the brim. There was a cobweb in the window of the shed, sparkling like the first one.
Then, slowly, something began to change.
The air grew a little warmer. The white blanket began to thin. First, Farah could see the swing again. Then the red gate. Then the tops of the trees. A soft, golden light glowed through the mist.
"The sun is coming," said Baba. "When the sun warms the air, the fog goes back up into the sky."
Farah watched as the fog lifted, a little at a time, like a curtain being pulled up very slowly. Soon the whole garden was bright and clear. The drops on the spider web flashed with tiny rainbows.
"It's going away," said Farah. "I didn't get to keep it."
Baba put his arm around her. "Some things are not for keeping," he said gently. "Some things are just for enjoying while they are here. And you enjoyed the fog very well this morning."
Farah thought about that. She thought about the sparkling web, and the quiet, whispering air, and walking inside a cloud.
"I know what I can keep," she said suddenly.
She ran inside, kicked off her boots, and took out her crayons and a big sheet of paper. She drew the garden, all soft and white. She drew the grey shape of the house. She drew the spider web with tiny silver drops. She drew herself in her yellow coat, holding an empty jar and smiling.
At the top, she drew a golden sun peeping through.
Baba looked at the picture for a long time. "That is the best way to catch fog I have ever seen," he said.
Farah hung the drawing above her bed. And the empty jar? She put it on her windowsill, with its lid on tight. Just in case a tiny bit of fog was still inside.
The garden was gone.
Well, not really gone. But she could not see the lemon tree. She could not see the swing. She could not even see the red gate at the end of the path. Everything was soft and white and cloudy, as if someone had tucked the whole garden under a big fluffy blanket.
"Baba!" Farah called. "Come and look! A cloud fell down into our garden!"
Her father came into the room with a cup of warm tea. He looked out of the window and smiled.
"That is fog," he said. "It does look like a cloud, doesn't it? Fog is a cloud that comes down to say hello to the ground."
Farah pressed her nose against the cool glass. "Can we go outside and touch it?"
"Put on your boots and your yellow coat," said Baba. "We will go together."
Farah hurried. She pulled on her boots, the wrong way round at first, then the right way. She buttoned her yellow coat. Then she had an idea. She ran to the kitchen and took an empty glass jar from the shelf. It had a shiny metal lid that twisted on and off.
"What is that for?" asked Baba.
"I am going to catch some fog," said Farah proudly. "Then I can keep it in my room forever, and look at it whenever I want."
Baba raised his eyebrows. "Well," he said, "let us see what happens."
They stepped outside. The air was cool and damp. It smelled of wet grass and earth and the lemons on the hidden lemon tree. Everything was very quiet. Even the birds seemed to be whispering.
Farah walked down the path. The fog swirled around her boots. When she looked back, the house was only a grey shape, like a drawing that someone had started and not finished.
"It's like walking inside a cloud," she said softly.
She unscrewed the lid of the jar. She held the jar high in the air and swooped it around, left and right, up and down. Then she quickly twisted the lid back on, tight, tight, tight.
She held the jar up to look.
It was empty. Just clear glass, with nothing inside at all.
Farah frowned. "Where did it go?"
She tried again. This time she ran through the thickest part of the fog, holding the jar open in front of her like a net. She screwed on the lid as fast as she could.
Empty again.
"Baba," she said, "the fog keeps escaping."
Baba knelt down beside her. "Let me tell you a secret about fog," he said. "Fog is made of tiny, tiny drops of water. They are so small and so light that they float in the air. There are millions of them all around us. But when you put just a few of them in a jar, they are too small to see."
Farah looked at the jar. "So there is fog in here?"
"A tiny bit," said Baba. "But fog only looks like fog when there is a whole sky full of it."
Farah was quiet for a moment. She felt a little disappointed. She had really wanted to keep the fog.
Then Baba pointed. "Look over there, by the gate."
Farah walked closer. Between two posts of the fence, there was a spider web. She had never noticed it before. But this morning, the web was covered with tiny drops of water. Each drop was round and shining, like a little glass bead. The whole web sparkled like a necklace.
"Oh," breathed Farah. "The fog made the spider web beautiful."
"The fog leaves little gifts everywhere," said Baba. "Can you find more?"
Farah looked around. Now she saw them. Drops of water hung from the tips of the grass, like tiny lamps. The rose petals were wet and shiny. On the swing, there was a soft silver coat of mist. When she touched the lemon tree, its leaves were cool and wet, and a drop slid down and plopped onto her nose.
Farah giggled. "The lemon tree is crying happy tears."
They walked all around the garden, finding fog gifts. There was a snail leaving a shiny trail across a wet stone. There was a bird bath full to the brim. There was a cobweb in the window of the shed, sparkling like the first one.
Then, slowly, something began to change.
The air grew a little warmer. The white blanket began to thin. First, Farah could see the swing again. Then the red gate. Then the tops of the trees. A soft, golden light glowed through the mist.
"The sun is coming," said Baba. "When the sun warms the air, the fog goes back up into the sky."
Farah watched as the fog lifted, a little at a time, like a curtain being pulled up very slowly. Soon the whole garden was bright and clear. The drops on the spider web flashed with tiny rainbows.
"It's going away," said Farah. "I didn't get to keep it."
Baba put his arm around her. "Some things are not for keeping," he said gently. "Some things are just for enjoying while they are here. And you enjoyed the fog very well this morning."
Farah thought about that. She thought about the sparkling web, and the quiet, whispering air, and walking inside a cloud.
"I know what I can keep," she said suddenly.
She ran inside, kicked off her boots, and took out her crayons and a big sheet of paper. She drew the garden, all soft and white. She drew the grey shape of the house. She drew the spider web with tiny silver drops. She drew herself in her yellow coat, holding an empty jar and smiling.
At the top, she drew a golden sun peeping through.
Baba looked at the picture for a long time. "That is the best way to catch fog I have ever seen," he said.
Farah hung the drawing above her bed. And the empty jar? She put it on her windowsill, with its lid on tight. Just in case a tiny bit of fog was still inside.
