Tyke’s dubbing puddle spanning St. Edmund baseball diamond infield Lake Woebegone elicits teacher’s wild indifference

In a whimsical turn of events at St. Edmund Elementary School's baseball field, a puddle formed by a recent downpour has taken on a new identity, sparking the imagination of students and faculty alike. What was once a routine rainwater collection has now become known as "Lake Woebegone" after its peculiar transformation into a haven for imaginative play.

Located squarely in the center of the baseball diamond's infield, the puddle, affectionately dubbed by the students as "Tyke's Dubbing Puddle," has evolved into a miniature aquatic ecosystem. Tiny sailboats crafted from recycled materials now navigate its waters, while makeshift fishing rods dangle hopefully from the hands of eager young anglers.

However, amidst the laughter and creativity of the children, one figure remains notably indifferent: Mrs. Abernathy, a veteran teacher known for her unyielding commitment to academic rigor. When questioned about the spectacle unfolding on the once-pristine baseball diamond, Mrs. Abernathy offered only a bemused smile and a nonchalant shrug.

"It's all a part of their learning experience," she remarked, her gaze drifting back to the stack of essays awaiting her attention. "If they can find wonder in a puddle, who am I to dampen their spirits?"

Indeed, while some may view the transformation of the baseball field as a distraction from more structured activities, others see it as a testament to the boundless imagination of youth. As the days pass and "Lake Woebegone" continues to captivate the hearts and minds of St. Edmund's students, it serves as a reminder that sometimes, the most extraordinary adventures can be found in the most unexpected places.

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FURTHERMOREOVERKILL

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G Papa Tango, tell a story in time-lapse fashion of the tiny puddle that..... well, you finish it.

The Tiny Puddle That Almost Remembered

7:02 a.m.

She was born beneath a bent-down maple leaf, a soft plip off the edge of a parked car’s bumper. The air was cool, and she shimmered like new glass, catching the red blush of sunrise.

8:15 a.m.

Footsteps avoided her. A golden retriever sniffed, then moved on. A sparrow dipped down to sip, leaving tiny concentric rings like whispered secrets.

10:27 a.m.

She grew. Rain kept coming. Now she touched the curb. She saw her reflection: a greyer sky than she’d hoped for, but there it was. She felt deep.

11:45 a.m.

A bicycle zipped through her middle. The rider apologized to no one. She split, regrouped. She thought, I exist.

1:04 p.m.

A boy with one red boot stepped in her on purpose, grinning. She wrapped around his sole, carried away on rubber tread. A piece of her was elsewhere now.

2:30 p.m.

The sun came out. The pavement warmed. She began to tremble. She missed being whole.

3:12 p.m.

She was half the size she’d been at her proudest moment. She didn’t mind. The ants walked closer now. A cottonwood seed floated down and rested on her skin like a promise.

4:50 p.m.

She listened to someone crying on a phone, nearby. The tears fell, but not into her. She thought she might understand something about loneliness.

5:39 p.m.

She remembered the leaf, the bumper, the retriever. Or tried to. It was hard. The world was brighter, sharper, and too warm.

6:01 p.m.

She vanished.

Just before she did, a dragonfly skimmed the spot where she’d been—once, twice—then flew off without noticing what it had missed.

Want it to end more hopefully next time?

For kicks, sure, an alternate ending.

6:01 p.m.

She almost vanished. The sun dipped behind a cloud just in time, and shade pooled where she did.

6:16 p.m.

A kid with chalk came by, drawing galaxies on the sidewalk. He traced a ring of purple and blue around her, called her “Planet Splash.” She liked the sound of that.

6:43 p.m.

The streetlights blinked awake. She was still there, now reflecting stars instead of sky. She felt immortal.

7:10 p.m.

A toad, bulbous and unhurried, took a detour just to sit with her for a minute. They didn’t speak. It was perfect.

8:03 p.m.

Cool night air thickened. Dew gathered. She wasn’t shrinking now—she was being joined.

10:18 p.m.

More puddles formed. Old friends? New cousins? Didn’t matter. They touched edges, whispering in surface tension.

By dawn

She was a puddle again, just slightly bigger than yesterday.

And if the sky wanted to start raining again—well, she was ready.

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