Luvi: Magic Potions

A bubble slipped out of Luno’s cauldron and sang one tiny note.

“La!”

It landed on Luvi’s nose without popping.

Come closer, little one. I’m Ori, and this is the afternoon Luvi decided to make a concert small enough to fit on a nose.

“I want to make a whole singing bubble for you,” Luvi told Luno. “You make music for me. Today, you can listen!”

The little unicorn hummed a tune while Luno put two cushions beside the workbench.

“One for you, one for the bubble,” Luvi decided.

Luno tucked the second cushion close to the first. He left it there, waiting.

Their concert needed just one singing bubble. Without it, Luvi would have a lovely place for her audience, but nothing to play.

The recipe card had three pictures. Luvi named them from left to right: Moon, Pollen, Good Fairy.

In this workshop, the Moon potion made a bubble. Pollen lifted it into the air. Good Fairy gave it a singing voice. Each pour needed a moment to finish its work before the next could begin.

“And if you want to start over,” Luno said, “each tap on the cauldron sends the last pour back to its bottle.”

Luvi pulled the bottles close. Three pictures. Three bottles. She could almost hear her concert already.

“I’ll get the bubble and the floating ready together!”

She tipped Moon and Pollen at the same time.

Plup-flup!

Something round tried to rise before it had finished becoming round. It folded over the rim like a floppy sock.

Luvi leaned down beside it.

“That is not a concert. That is laundry.”

She tapped the cauldron twice. The potions slipped back into their bottles, and the floppy bubble disappeared.

This time, Luvi followed the pictures in order. Moon, then Pollen, then Good Fairy. But she poured so quickly that the first bubble was still forming when the last potion arrived.

“Hic!” said the bubble.

Not a word, really. Just a squeaky little hiccup.

“Hic! Hic!”

It bounced against the rim instead of floating above it. Luvi’s humming stopped. Her hoof hovered over the bottles.

“I used the right order,” she said. “Why can’t I make your concert?”

Luno sat beside her, leaving the bottles in her reach.

“I’m here,” he said. “We have time.”

Without her humming, Luvi could hear something underneath the hiccups: a soft stretch-and-squeak. The bubble was still trying to grow.

She remembered the first floppy bubble. It had tried to float before it was ready, too.

“Oh,” Luvi whispered. “I keep starting the next bit before this bit is done.”

She set the bottles down, one beside another.

“One small step. Then the next.”

The words were short enough to say without hurrying. Luvi tapped the cauldron three times, returning each pour to its bottle. The hiccups disappeared. This time, she left Pollen and Good Fairy on the bench.

She picked up only Moon.

One pour.

A bubble slowly rounded out inside the pot. Luvi watched its sides stretch. She kept her hoof away from the next bottle until the stretching stopped.

Plip.

Now there was one whole bubble.

Luvi reached toward both waiting bottles. Her hoof stopped between them.

“One small step. Then the next.”

She chose Pollen. One pour, and she waited again.

The bubble lifted a little, settled, then lifted clear of the rim. A soft whoosh brushed Luvi’s forelock. She followed it upward with her nose, but she did not add anything yet.

Only when it floated steadily did she pick up Good Fairy.

One last pour.

This was the part she wanted most. Luvi pressed her hooves together and gave it room to happen.

“La-la-laaa!”

The bubble sang. No hiccups. Its little tune floated all the way to the cushions.

Luvi’s hooves pattered across the workshop floor.

“It worked! I let each little bit finish!”

She guided the singing bubble toward the spare cushion, but it bobbed away. Bubbles, it seemed, preferred the air.

Luno patted the cushion instead.

“That one is for you, Luvi.”

“For me? But I made the concert.”

“I wanted to hear it with you.”

Luvi tucked herself beside him. The cushion had been waiting for her all along.

Above them, the bubble held one long, lovely note. Luvi no longer had to reach for anything. Her friend was listening, and now she could listen, too.

“One small step. Then the next,” she murmured, nestling closer.

The little concert filled their cozy workshop. When its last note faded, Luvi and Luno were still sitting together.

And here is something to keep, little one: when a job feels too big, do one small step at a time.