Dot and the Moon That Lost Its Crumbs

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One day, Dot said to Shelly the snail— "Have you seen the moon’s crumbs? They’re gone again." Shelly blinked her slow, damp eyes. "The moon doesn’t eat, Dot. Crumb is just a word." Dot adjusted his tiny spectacles. "Then where do they go? They were here last night—right there, like glitter on a dune." Shelly sighed. "Maybe the wind blew them away." Dot shook his head. "Wind doesn’t pick crumbs. It picks leaves. It picks dust. It never picks glitter on a dune." That night, Dot waited. The moon rose, round and bright, and sure enough—crumbs tumbled down like tiny fallen stars. Dot scuttled closer. The crumbs were warm. They smelled like sugar and stardust. Between you and me, he thought, this is too strange to ignore. Then—something moved. A shadow, no bigger than a pebble, darted between the crumbs. Dot froze. The shadow had six legs. It had antennae. It was another beetle, but smaller, and it was gathering the crumbs into a little pouch. "Hey!" Dot whispered. The little beetle jumped. "Oh! You startled me!" "What are you doing?" Dot asked. "Collecting moon crumbs," the beetle said, as if it were obvious. "They’re the best for baking. Sweet, but not too sweet. Crunchy, but not too crunchy." Dot’s eyes widened. "You’re taking them?" The beetle nodded. "Every night. The moon doesn’t mind. It’s just happy someone notices." Dot looked up. The moon glowed, full and quiet, and for the first time, he saw it wasn’t sad. It was sharing. The next morning, Dot told Shelly everything. "So the crumbs aren’t lost," he said. "They’re just… borrowed." Shelly smiled. "I suppose even the moon needs a friend who bakes." That night, Dot sat on a rock and watched the moon. The crumbs fell, soft and bright, like glitter on a dune. He didn’t gather any. He just watched. And the moon watched back. Dot closed his eyes. The crumbs kept falling. The world stayed quiet. And Dot found his answer.

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