Daisy Mae’s Midnight Swim

One warm summer night, when the moon hung low and the stars twinkled like tiny lanterns, Daisy Mae opened the gate with a nose nudge and tiptoed into the hush of midnight.

She followed a path glowing with fireflies, their soft lights blinking like secrets just for her. The pine trees whispered overhead, and the cool air carried the scent of honeysuckle and moss.

At the end of the glowing trail was a creek, silver and quiet, winding through the woods like a ribbon of moonlight. Daisy Mae stepped into the water, tail wagging with delight as ripples danced around her paws.

Suddenly, she heard a rustle from the ferns. Out stepped a young fox, his fur the color of cinnamon and his eyes bright as stars.

“Are you a midnight swimmer too?” The fox asked shyly.

“Only when the moon invites me,” Daisy Mae replied, her ears perked.

The fox smiled. “Come with me—I know a secret.”

He led her along the creek’s edge where the moss was thick and the fireflies flew in slow, dreamy spirals. Behind a curtain of willow branches, they found a patch of wild strawberries, blushing red and sweet under the moonlight.

They sat together—fox and dog—sharing berries and stories, while the creek whispered nearby and the fireflies sang their silent lullaby.

When the stars began to fade, Daisy Mae trotted home with strawberry juice on her tongue and the memory of a friend who shared the magic of the midnight world.

She slept soundly that morning, dreaming of glowing paths, silver water, and a little fox with moonlit eyes.