One warm morning, Leo walked into the garden with Grandma. The flowers were drooping low, low, low. Their petals looked sleepy and sad.
"Oh," said Leo softly. "The flowers are thirsty."
Grandma nodded. "Would you like to help them drink?"
Leo found a little green watering can. It was too heavy when full, so he filled it just a little. Splish, splash! He tipped it gently over the roots. Glug, glug, glug went the water into the soil.
Slowly, one flower lifted its head. Then another. Then another! The petals opened wide, like tiny hands waking up.
Beneath a leaf, Leo spotted a small brown snail resting in the shade. "Hello, little one," he whispered. He stepped very carefully around it, so its shiny house would stay safe.
A thirsty bee buzzed down and landed on the wet leaf. Bzzz. It drank a tiny drop, then flew away happy. Leo giggled and waved goodbye.
"You are a good gardener," said Grandma. "Gentle hands and a soft voice — that is just what a garden loves."
Together they watered the ferns and the little herbs and the mossy stones. Leo pressed one soft leaf between his fingers and breathed in. Mmm. It smelled like green rain.
When every plant had a drink, Leo sat down on the warm path. The flowers nodded in the breeze, as if to say thank you. The snail slid slowly home. The bee dozed somewhere far away.
Grandma carried him inside and tucked him into bed. Outside the window, the garden was quiet and cool and content.
Leo yawned a big yawn. In his sleepy mind, he could still hear the water. Glug, glug, glug. Softer now. Softer.
The flowers were sleeping. The snail was sleeping. And Leo, curled warm and cozy, drifted down into sleep too.