02/05/2025
NOW THIS, Best Beloved, is the tale of how the Sun, who is very grand and very splendid and very busy, sent a gift to little Mouse on a dark and rainy February day. It is also the tale of Big Grey, who is the biggest and greyest of clouds, and how, despite being rather set in his ways, he let a little light through—just once, and just because he wished to see what all the fuss was about.
In those days, which are these days, and at that time, which is now, February was doing what February always does—being damp and dreary, with a great deal of sighing and dripping and muttering in the sky. And the one responsible for all this sighing and dripping and muttering was Big Grey, who was stretched across the sky like an old woollen blanket, thick and heavy and perfectly content with himself.
Big Grey liked being stretched across the sky. He liked keeping things cool and drizzly, liked pressing himself against the hilltops and making the world damp and drowsy. He especially liked keeping the Sun out, because the Sun, in Big Grey’s opinion, was far too bright and far too cheerful and always in a dreadful rush.
So, while Big Grey lay lazily across the sky, down in The Glen, Mouse was sitting at her round wooden table, untying the string of a package that had arrived at her door. The house, which had been watching with great interest (for houses do watch, Best Beloved, if they are the right kind of house), gave a little creaky sigh of delight.
“Oh, Mouse,” it said, “what a fine thing to receive on a rainy day! What is it?”
Mouse peeled back the paper, and there, nestled inside, was a circle of shining amethysts and citrines, threaded on a silver thread as fine as mist. And at the centre—oh, at the centre, Best Beloved!—was a heart of rose quartz, soft and glowing, like a little piece of a sunset caught in stone.
Mouse held it up to the firelight, and at once the golden glow flickered through the beads, scattering tiny sparks of colour onto the walls.
“It is a sun-catcher,” said Mouse, turning it this way and that. “It is meant to catch the light and send it dancing about the room.”
The house gave an approving creak. “A marvellous thing! But, Mouse, there is no Sun to catch today. Big Grey has settled himself quite firmly overhead.”
Mouse looked out at the sky, which was as thick and low and heavy as a woollen cloak. “No, there is not,” she agreed. “But I shall hang it anyway, for treasures must be given their place, whether or not they are needed at once.”
So, she found the perfect spot—a little hook above the window—and hung the sun-catcher carefully, where it swung ever so slightly in the warmth of the firelight. And then she sat down with a cup of mulled apple juice and admired how it glowed, even in the dimness.
Now, while all this was happening, the Sun was sitting in his great golden chair behind Big Grey, reading his newspaper. It was a very large and very crinkly newspaper, and the Sun was quite enjoying himself, turning the pages with long, golden fingers. But then, Best Beloved, he saw something that made him frown.
“MORE RAIN OVER THE GLEN,” said the headline.
The Sun rustled the paper and peered over the top. “Big Grey,” he called, “must you always linger? You do realise I have places to be?”
Big Grey gave a slow, lazy stretch across the sky. “It is February,” he rumbled. “I linger in February. That is what February is for.”
The Sun huffed and tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Yes, yes, so you always say. But I happen to like The Glen, and it has been rather a long time since I visited.”
Big Grey rolled himself a little thicker. “They are quite happy without you,” he said. “It is all very cosy down there. Fires are crackling. Tea is steaming. Rain is tapping at the windows. Nobody needs a big bright glare in the middle of it all.”
The Sun leaned forward, peering down through the thick, woolly layers of cloud. “Hmm,” he said. “Let me have a look.”
Big Grey grumbled but did not move.
And so, the Sun, who is very grand and very splendid and very determined when he wants to be, did a most particular thing. He took one great golden breath, reached out with one great golden hand, and gave Big Grey the tiniest of nudges.
Now, Big Grey did not like being nudged, not one bit. But just as he was about to rumble a great HARRUMPH! of protest, something caught his eye.
It was a small thing. A little round window, far below, where something shimmered faintly, waiting.
Big Grey frowned. “What is that?”
The Sun peered over his shoulder. “Oh, just a sun-catcher,” he said casually. “Nothing important. Only something very beautiful, made by very kind hands, hung in the perfect place, just in case I should ever care to visit.”
Big Grey said nothing for a moment. Then, very, very slowly, he shifted himself—just a little.
And at that very moment, Best Beloved, a single golden ray slipped through the sky, past the thick folds of cloud, down through the mist and the rain, and straight through Mouse’s window.
And oh, what a marvellous thing happened next!
The sunbeam struck the sun-catcher, and at once the room was filled with light. Gold and violet splashed across the walls, tiny rainbows waltzed over the wooden floor, and the rose quartz heart glowed like a little ember, warm and pink and full of quiet love.
The house let out the happiest creak it had ever creaked.
“Oh, Mouse,” it sighed. “Now that is something special.”
Just then, Rabbit arrived at the door, shaking the rain from his cloak. He stepped inside and stopped, staring at the flickering colours all around.
“Mouse,” he whispered, “what is that?”
Mouse smiled. “That, dear friend, is a gift. A circle of kindness, a reminder that even when the world is grey, there are always colours waiting to shine.”
Far above, the Sun settled back into his great golden chair, most pleased with himself.
And Big Grey?
Big Grey rumbled and rolled and settled back into place—but, if you looked closely, Best Beloved, you might have seen that he had left the tiniest little gap, just enough for a sunbeam or two to slip through when they were needed.
And from that day to this, if ever you see a single beam of light breaking through a rainy sky, you will know, Best Beloved, that Big Grey has taken another little look at The Glen, just to see what treasures are waiting.
Until next time. 💌
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A little story written and illustrated for you by Victoria Beata
Copyright © 2025 Victoria Beata. All rights reserved.
