The Cloud Who Borrowed Tomorrow
Stories from Red Wood Forest
A little time. A rather big adventure.
The Cloud
Who Borrowed
Tomorrow
Bayu could really use another afternoon.
Unfortunately, this one has other plans.
Somewhere in Red Wood Forest
By the time Bayu finished work at the landing, their friends had already gone to watch the lantern moths.
Again.
Bayu had helped everyone onto the boats, carried the last parcels, and waited for a late delivery of doorknobs. Now the lanterns were lit, the boats were gone, and there was nobody left to ask, “Coming?”
They sat on a mooring post and rained into their shoes.
“You’ll fill those,” said a passing frog.
“I know.”
“Good puddles, though.”
Across the path stood a shop Bayu was fairly sure hadn’t been there that morning. It was squeezed between two roots, with a crooked door and a very promising sign.
NEED ANOTHER
AFTERNOON?
Bayu emptied their shoes and went inside.
How very convenient.
Mind the lid.
✧ Inside the afternoon shop
A beetle in six slippers looked up from his book.
“Something sunny? Something drizzly? I have a lovely Thursday, although it does smell of cabbage.”
“Just an afternoon,” Bayu said. “One with room to see my friends.”
The beetle reached beneath the counter and brought out a jar. Inside, a golden ball bobbed against the glass like a sleepy sun.
“Three whole hours.”
Bayu held it up. The light warmed their cloudy cheeks.
“What do I do?”
“Unscrew the lid. Keep the jar nearby. Afternoons like to wander.”
“How do you get one back?”
“Remind it where it belongs.”
Bayu was busy imagining the garden, their friends, and three hours without a single doorknob.
“Lovely,” they said.
The jar gave a little hop.
✧ An afternoon on the loose
Outside, Bayu opened it.
Warm light spilled over their hands. The golden ball rose into the air, stretched, and sneezed a shower of sparks.
“Oh,” said Bayu. “Bless y—”
It shot down the path.
“Wait!”
The afternoon bounced off a mushroom, skimmed a puddle, and vanished around a root.
“How rude,” said the mushroom.
“Sorry!”
Bayu hurried after it, but a paw caught their satchel.
Moss stood beside them, holding a calendar.
“Where did you get that?”
“Little shop. Six slippers. Must dash.”
Moss turned the jar over. A label was stuck underneath.
Bayu stopped floating.
“Oh.”
A small hole. A rather large problem.
“That’s ours,” Moss said. “Kavi swapped shifts. I finished my errands. We’ve been waiting all week.”
“How did you know it was missing?”
Moss held up the calendar. There was a round hole in tomorrow.
Bayu could see a tree through it.
“I didn’t know,” they said.
From further down the path came a crash.
“MY BUTTONS!”
Moss tucked the calendar under their arm.
“Where did it go?”
✧ Trouble at the floating market
The afternoon had reached the floating market.
It was having a wonderful time.
It rolled through a basket of buttons, bounced along a washing line, and settled on a sleeping cat. The cat opened one eye.
“I’m keeping this.”
“Please don’t,” Bayu said.
The afternoon wriggled free. Bayu puffed themselves wide to block its way, but it went straight through them.
For one dazzling moment, Bayu glowed like a lantern.
“Oh, that tickles.”
Then it popped out of their back.
Moss scrambled onto a crate.
“Kavi!”
At the next stall, Kavi looked up from repairing a paper lantern.
“Our afternoon’s loose!”
She stared at the golden ball, then at the empty jar in Bayu’s hands.
“I thought we were having a quiet one.”
She grabbed a length of ribbon and hurried over.
Meanwhile, inside an umbrella…
The afternoon zipped past her, down the jetty, and out across the river. On the far bank, the wind reeds bent and whistled.
Moss pointed. “If it gets past those, it’ll blow out onto the lake.”
“We need a boat,” Kavi said.
Bayu searched their satchel: a pencil, half a biscuit, three receipts, and an umbrella that had been rattling for days.
They opened the umbrella.
Seven acorns fell out.
From the jetty roof, a squirrel gasped.
“My emergency supplies!”
“Can we borrow a boat?” Kavi called.
“Take mine,” said the button seller, pointing with all four arms. “And bring back anything round you find.”
A little less. A little more.
Kavi paddled. Moss watched the light. Bayu stood at the back and blew.
The boat shot forward.
“Less!” cried Moss.
Bayu blew less.
“A little more,” said Kavi.
Bayu puffed their cheeks.
“Could we agree on a breeze?”
They settled on a breeze.
By the time they reached the reeds, the afternoon was tangled among their feathery tops. Each gust tossed it higher.
Bayu held up the jar.
“In here!”
The afternoon bobbed away.
Moss reached with the ribbon. Too short.
Kavi lifted the paddle. Too heavy.
Beyond the reeds, the lake glittered.
Moss sat back.
“We were only going to sit in the garden.”
Bayu lowered the jar.
“Only?”
Somewhere it belongs
“And mend Kavi’s coat. And watch the moonflowers open.”
“And do very little,” Kavi added. “I was looking forward to that part.”
The golden ball paused.
Bayu noticed.
“Say that again.”
“Which part?”
“The garden.”
Moss looked up. “Our bench gets warm in the afternoon.”
The light slipped between two reeds.
“There’s a good spot for stretching your feet.”
It came closer.
Bayu remembered the beetle’s words.
“Keep talking,” they whispered. “I’ll hold the jar.”
“I found the cushions,” Kavi said. “The big squashy ones.”
The afternoon floated towards the boat.
“And there’s nothing we have to hurry off to,” Moss said. “We checked.”
The golden ball settled into the jar with a tiny, sleepy wobble.
Bayu put the lid on.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Kavi lay down in the bottom of the boat.
“I’m starting the sitting-down part early.”
✧ Putting tomorrow back
They returned the boat, helped collect the buttons, and gave the squirrel six acorns.
The seventh was in Bayu’s shoe.
At the shop, Bayu placed the jar on the counter.
“This belongs to my friends.”
The beetle checked his book.
“It was marked unused. Nothing planned.”
“We planned to rest,” Kavi said.
The beetle looked at her, then at the jar.
“Oh.”
Behind him stood a whole shelf of afternoons. Some were bright. Some were rainy. One was gently snoring.
“Who marked them unused?” Moss asked.
The beetle looked down at his pen.
“I did.”
Moss held out their calendar.
The beetle carefully peeled the label from the jar. Beneath it was a small golden circle. He fitted it into the hole in tomorrow.
The calendar gave a satisfied rustle.
Then he fetched a basket and began taking the other jars off the shelf.
“I need to return these.”
“And ask before borrowing any more,” Moss said.
The beetle nodded. He turned the shop sign to CLOSED.
From inside the basket came a snore.
An afternoon to look forward to
Outside, Bayu handed Moss the jar.
“I’m sorry about your afternoon.”
Moss tucked it safely into their bag.
“You can share some of it. Come round tomorrow.”
“I’m supposed to be at the landing.”
“Have you asked about changing your shift?” Kavi said.
Bayu hadn’t. They were usually the one people asked.
That evening, they spoke to the landing keeper.
Together, they checked the rota. Rumi preferred afternoons and was happy to swap. Bayu could take the morning shift, and someone else would wait for the late deliveries.
Bayu read the new times twice.
Then they wrote a message to their friends.
I CAN COME.
Underneath, they added:
SAVE ME A CUSHION.
Nowhere else to be
The next afternoon, Bayu reached the garden just as Moss opened the jar.
This time, the golden light stayed close. It warmed the bench, found the cushions, and settled across all three friends with a small, satisfied sigh.
Kavi put two stitches in her coat.
Moss stretched their feet.
Bayu watched a moonflower begin to open.
For a while, nobody needed to go anywhere.
Then the umbrella rattled.
Bayu opened one eye.
“Absolutely not.”
A tiny voice came from inside.
“Even if I’ve brought biscuits?”
Bayu considered this.
They opened the umbrella.
A squirrel tumbled onto the spare cushion, clutching a tin.
Moss shuffled over. Kavi caught the lid.
There was still plenty of afternoon.
of afternoon.
✧ The end ✧
