Barry found it on a Wednesday.

He wasn't looking for anything in particular. He rarely is. 

He was simply walking in the way that Barry walks — slowly, and with a great deal of attention paid to things that are not considered worth attending to.

The dandelion clock was standing in the path. Most people would have stepped around it. Barry stopped.

He picked it up very carefully, the way you carry something that has decided to be fragile today. He held it for a while first. Just to look at it. The seeds were so precisely arranged. He hadn't known, before this moment, that he needed to know that. And now he did.

He closed his eyes.

Barry's wish was not small. It was not practical. It was the kind of wish that has no edges — the kind you can't quite hold the whole of at once. He didn't mind. He held what he could of it.

Then he blew, very gently.

The seeds went everywhere. Into the trees. Into the light. Into the particular quality of Wednesday afternoon that belongs only to this one and never comes back.

Barry watched them go with great interest and no sadness whatsoever.

He didn't need to know where they landed. They knew.

He walked home humming something he hadn't heard before.

It's Make a Wish Day. Barry would like you to know that you don't have to know the whole wish. Just hold what you can of it. Then let it go.

It knows where to land.

This Is Barry.

Pretty, isn't he?

It would be deeply annoying if he wasn't such an absolute dote. 

This is Barry. He is the only monochrome gremlin in a world of colour, which you'd think might bother him. It does not. Barry has not given it a great deal of thought. Barry is currently watching a leaf.

And he hums to himself while he does it.

He has never noticed that he does this. He has never noticed that not everyone is built this way.  He isn't lonely by himself.  He has never found himself in the position to be even mildly over-socialised. His company and presence is enough.  For him.  For everyone he meets.

That peaceful feeling you find in nature, the one that both takes your breath and allows you to breathe deeper than you've ever known you could? That's Barry. 

Barry sings in forests. Not for anyone in particular. Not for any particular reason. The music is there, and it feels nice in his chest. The wind pauses when he sings. The animals go still. Barry does not notice any of this. For Barry, it's just Tuesday.

He's not waiting to be seen. He's not lonely. He's complete. He just is — and the world goes quiet around him without him ever asking it to. The forest already knew. The animals already knew. And now the depot knows.

This is Barry.  He doesn't know he's extraordinary. He has absolutely no idea that he is someone extremely special in a world that forgot how to be quiet. He is watching a leaf right now and finding it genuinely interesting.

There are so many good leaves today.

Let me tell you about Barry.

— The Gremlin Wrangler