Molly the Moose Makes Music E-Book

Kelly Johnson

• Herausgeber: Kelly Johnson
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 96

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The story follows Molly, a gentle and curious moose living in the musical, sunlit Willowpine Forest, where every creature contributes to a vibrant, living symphony. Though Molly loves the forests melodies, her own attempts to hum or sing feel awkward and out of placeuntil one morning she discovers a delicate, handmade flute resting in a sunlit clearing. When she lifts it and experiments, the flute produces magical, shimmering notes that welcome her voice, coaxing out her hidden musical potential. With encouragement from forest friends and through practice, Molly begins to play wobbly but enchanting melodies, discovering her place in the forests song and embarking on a joyful journey of self-expression, confidence, and musical adventure.

Leseprobe

IMPRESSUM

Molly the Moose Makes Music

Author: Kelly Johnson

© 2025 Kelly Johnson.

All rights reserved.

Author: Kelly Johnson

Contact: 903 W Woodland Ave, Kokomo, IN 46902

Email: [email protected]

Disclaimer

This eBook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: A Curious Melody

Chapter 2: The First Wobbly Notes

Chapter 3: A Forest Full of Listeners

Chapter 4: A Band Begins

Chapter 5: Trouble in the Tune

Chapter 6: The Moose Who Almost Quit

Chapter 7: A New Discovery

Chapter 8: Rebuilding the Band

Chapter 9: The Grand Forest Concert

Chapter 10: The Moose with a Musical Heart

Molly the Moose Makes Music

By: Kelly Johnson

Chapter 1: A Curious Melody

Molly the Moose lived in the peaceful, sun-dappled heart of Willowpine Forest, a place where music drifted through the trees like warm, golden breezes. Every morning, as the first rays of sunlight spilled over the mossy floor, birds practiced their chirpy scales from the treetops, their voices bouncing playfully from branch to branch. Frogs harmonized in bubbling, croaky duets from the pond, while crickets added their steady, comforting rhythm from beneath the ferns and fallen leaves. Even the trees themselves seemed to join in, the wind rustling through their leaves in a soft, leafy hum that mingled with the songs of the forest dwellers. Every creature had a sound—a tune, a note, a rhythm—that made them part of the forest’s grand, living symphony.

Everyone except Molly.

Molly loved listening more than anything. She loved the way the forest came alive with music at dawn, the way tiny chirps and croaks combined into a patchwork of sound, the way the crickets’ steady tick-tock kept time for the frogs’ joyful leaps and the birds’ fluttering arpeggios. She loved the quiet rustle of leaves, the gentle babble of streams, the sighing of the wind as it tangled itself around branches and tumbled through the undergrowth. Every sound felt like a gentle hug, a pulse of life, a story that only the forest could tell.

But whenever Molly tried to hum along, her voice came out awkwardly. Too low, too wobbly, too… moose-y. She would clear her throat, lift her chin, and take a deep breath, imagining her hum floating like the notes of a songbird. Yet it never sounded like the music around her. Sometimes it came out as a soft grunt; sometimes a shaky, uncertain bellow. Molly didn’t mind too much—not yet. Not when the forest was alive with melody, not when she could lean against a tree and feel the music swirl warmly inside her chest even if it never quite spilled out.

She often wandered between the birches and maples, her long legs padding silently over moss and fallen pine needles. She would lift her antlers, letting them catch the morning light, and nod them in time with the rhythm of nature. A gust of wind might ripple through the reeds at the pond’s edge, and she would sway gently in response, as if her whole body were a pendulum keeping time with the unseen conductor of the forest. Sometimes, when the pond reflected the golden sunlight like a mirror, she would close her eyes and imagine her hum blending with the croaks, the chirps, the rustles, and the chimes of droplets falling from leaves.

Even though her voice didn’t yet have its own place in the symphony, Molly carried the music inside her everywhere she went. It filled her chest like honey, smooth and warm, and it made her feel connected to the birds, the frogs, the crickets, and even the whispering leaves. She believed, quietly and secretly, that one day her own sound would find its way into the forest’s song. Until then, she listened, learned, and dreamed—dreamed of a day when her hum could mingle with the melodies all around her, a soft, joyful note that would say, “I am here too. I belong.”

One crisp morning, as dew still clung to the ferns and the air smelled of pine needles and fresh earth, Molly heard something unusual—a sound unlike any she had heard before. It wasn’t birdsong, nor the chitters of chipmunks. It was softer, sweeter… almost magical. A delicate, airy melody floated on the breeze like a ribbon of light drifting toward her. The notes rose and fell with gentle grace, shimmering like the surface of a sunlit stream.

Molly’s ears perked up. Her heart gave a curious thump. “What is that?” she wondered aloud, taking a careful step forward.

The mysterious sound drifted through the towering pines, weaving between trunks and curling around branches, beckoning her closer. Entranced, Molly followed, her large hooves treading softly on the mossy forest floor. Each note seemed to tug playfully at her antlers, as though inviting her to join a secret adventure.

She passed a family of rabbits munching on clover, a squirrel stacking pinecones, and a pair of bluebirds fluffing their feathers—all of whom paused as the melody reached their ears, then smiled knowingly as Molly continued her quest. Even the wind quieted, letting the mysterious tune shine all on its own.

After a gentle turn around a bend in the trail, Molly stepped into a small clearing bathed in golden morning light. In the center sat an old stump, its surface smoothed by years of weather and woodland visitors. And resting right beside it—almost glowing in the sunlight—was a delicate handmade flute carved from pale, polished wood.

Molly blinked.

“Was this making that sound?” she whispered.

She leaned down and gave the flute a curious nudge with her nose.

A perfectly clear note rang out—soft but bright, like a tiny sunbeam turned into sound. It rolled through the clearing with a purity so exquisite that the leaves seemed to pause mid-rustle, and even the creek’s gentle babble softened in awe. The air itself seemed to shimmer, as if the music had pressed a secret key that unlocked a hidden sparkle in every tree and stone. Molly’s heart skipped. A tingling shiver ran down her spine, settling in her hooves and pulsing up into her antlers. For a single, suspended moment, it felt as though the entire forest—every bird, every squirrel, every leaf and blade of grass—held its breath, listening.

Molly pulled back, eyes wide and glistening with wonder, ears swiveling in disbelief. She could hardly believe it had come from her, from her hooves and breath, coaxing sound from a humble piece of wood.

“That… that was beautiful!” she whispered, her voice trembling with awe. The words barely seemed enough to describe it.

Her chest flooded with excitement, a wild, bubbling joy that made her antlers tingle and her hooves tap uncontrollably against the mossy ground. Carefully, almost reverently, she nudged the flute again, this time with more confidence, and it sang back another graceful, shimmering tone. The notes hung in the air, twining with the soft breeze and sunlight, and Molly laughed, a short, delighted sound that rippled through the clearing.

The music didn’t seem to mind that she was a moose. It didn’t care about her size, her clumsy hooves, or the shape of her antlers. It welcomed her touch, coaxed her curiosity, and encouraged her to explore, to experiment, to be herself. Each note felt like a tiny nod of approval from the forest, a whispered “yes” from the wind and the leaves and every tiny creature listening nearby.

Molly’s excitement grew with each careful press of the keys. She experimented with different angles, different breaths, and the flute responded in kind, producing lilting, twinkling notes, deep, rounded tones, and soft, wandering melodies that seemed to dance across the moss and twine around the roots of the trees. The air felt alive with possibility, charged with the electric thrill of discovery.

As she played, the forest seemed to sparkle all around her—the sunlight glinting on dewdrops, fireflies blinking faintly in the undergrowth, birds tilting their heads as though listening to the shape of the sound. For the first time in her life, Molly felt something stirring deep inside her—a tender, thrilling sense that she belonged here, that she had a place in the music of Willowpine Forest, that her small, determined heart could truly add to its chorus.

A new melody was waiting to be found—winding, playful, bold, and beautiful. And maybe, just maybe, it was hers to discover. Molly inhaled deeply, ready to explore every note, every rhythm, every trembling possibility that her flute—and her heart—could reach.

Her smile stretched wide. The adventure of music, of finding herself in the forest’s song, had only just begun.

Chapter 2: The First Wobbly Notes

Molly lifted the flute carefully between her hooves, turning it this way and that as shafts of sunlight glinted off the polished wood. She had seen birds play reed whistles before, and even watched an old beaver once blow across a hollow stick to amuse his kits. How hard could it be? she thought, her chest puffing with hopeful determination.

She positioned the flute near her mouth, angled it the way she imagined it should go, her antlers tilting slightly as she tried to balance it against her snout. She could feel the smooth, polished wood beneath her hooves, the coolness of it sending a shiver of anticipation through her. Molly took a deep, steadying breath, puffing her chest just like she had seen a duck do in the pond. She closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the most beautiful melody swirling through the clearing, a tune that would make the flowers sway and the sunbeams dance.

HONNNNK!

The sound blasted through the clearing like an offended goose with a megaphone. It rattled the leaves overhead, made a family of finches shriek in alarm, and sent a startled chipmunk tumbling backward as his acorn rolled across the moss. Even a pair of nearby mushrooms seemed to tremble, wobbling precariously like tiny umbrellas caught in a gust of wind. Molly’s ears rang, her eyes flew open, and for a moment, the forest felt as though it had frozen in shock.

She blinked, stunned, as the flute vibrated in her grasp, wobbling dangerously from side to side. “Oh… oh no,” she whispered, her voice trembling with embarrassment, “that wasn’t very musical.” Her cheeks flushed a faint rosy hue, though her antlers stayed impossibly straight, betraying none of her mortification.

From a branch overhead, two young squirrels peeked down, their bushy tails flicking back and forth like tiny banners of mischief. Their bright eyes sparkled with amusement, and they exchanged a conspiratorial glance.

“Try again!” one squeaked, barely suppressing a giggle that sounded like the rustling of dry leaves.

“Yeah! Maybe it’ll be louder this time!” the other chattered, bouncing on the branch with excitement.