Poppy and the Missing Colors

The writing is pretty and the idea is sweet, but I ended up frustrated by how tidy everything is. The story uses a lot of familiar tropes — shy protagonist, mysterious gloom, community banding together — without adding a fresh angle. Poppy’s ritual with ribbons is cute, but the narrative doesn’t dig deeper into why colors disappear or what the moth’s hoarding really means beyond a metaphor. Some pacing problems too: the opening description is long and gorgeous, then things speed up and resolve almost before I felt invested in the mystery. It’ll be fine for very young readers who want soothing tales, but older kids might find it a bit clichéd.

I wanted to love this more than I did. The concept — a village losing its color and a shy rabbit leading a hunt to bring it back — is sweet, but the execution felt too safe and predictable. You can see every beat coming: the faded ribbon, the concerned neighbors, the moth who “keeps treasures” ultimately giving one up. There’s a lack of tension; nothing really threatens the village beyond a mild melancholy. For a children’s book that leans heavily on atmosphere, I’d have liked a bit more adventure or a twist that surprised both kids and adults. Still, the imagery is pleasant and it’s certainly comforting, but I can’t shake the feeling it plays too many cards it’s already showed.

Charming, with just the right amount of whimsy. I admired how the plot doesn’t rely on big explosions or scary villains — the conflict is a missing chorus and the solution is community: ribbons, songs, a hesitant moth deciding to share. The strawberry-stitched ribbon moment is such a visual that kids will remember it, and Mr. Rook’s dull apples give a concrete sense of what’s at stake. I grinned at the way Poppy’s ribbon choices map to her curiosities (cloud-watching, seed leaves, apples) — neat little lesson in paying attention. Recommended for storytime and quiet afternoons.

There’s so much warmth in this story. The author trusts small moments — a drawer of ribbons, a moth’s hesitation, a bell’s sleepy swing — to carry emotional weight, and it works beautifully. I especially loved the episode where Poppy chooses a ribbon for the day; it’s such a simple ritual but it tells you everything about her. The village’s collective effort to restore the chorus, gathering ribbons and songs, felt like a hymn to community. It’s gentle, reassuring, and ideal for young children learning about empathy and cooperation. The prose is calm and lyrical; I read it aloud and my voice softened on the last page. Lovely.

Short, sweet, and very visual. The strawberry ribbon detail is adorable and gives Poppy real personality. The scenes with Madam Wren’s faded roses and the sleepy bakery bell set the mood perfectly. I’ll be recommending this to parents who want stories about kindness and community that don’t feel sermon-y.

Poppy and the Missing Colors reads like a lullaby wrapped in watercolor. The author paints Sunfield with deliberate strokes — the patchwork gardens “sewn by careful hands,” the bell of the bakery swinging “a little sleepy” — and uses those images to make the loss of color feel personal and intimate rather than world-ending. I appreciated the community choreography: how strangers become collaborators, how ribbons and songs are offered like pieces of themselves. The motif of small, quiet bravery — Poppy deciding to notice color again, a moth reluctantly giving up a treasure — is handled with impressive restraint. It’s a calming, hopeful read for kids that subtly teaches that courage isn’t always loud; sometimes it’s choosing to look closely.

This is the kind of quiet story that sneaks into your heart. Loved Poppy’s little hop of surprise when the ribbon looked faded — tiny, believable emotion. The hesitant moth who hoards treasures? Genius. I laughed out loud at the image of children chasing one another between rows of bright houses and then felt a lump in my throat during the scene where everyone gathers ribbons and sings. The language is simple but never childish; it respects young readers. My only wish: more of the moth! 🦋

Smart, gentle children’s fiction. The story’s strength is its sensory detail — Mr. Rook’s apples described as “polished coins” then later reduced to “dull as pebbles” gives a clear before/after contrast that anchors the mystery. Poppy’s ritual of choosing a ribbon is an excellent character device; it externalizes her curiosity and gives young readers something concrete to latch onto. Pacing is mostly well handled: the hush at dawn, the drawer moment, the village gathering — each beats builds logically. If I have a minor critique it’s that the stakes are modest (intentionally), so adults might wish for a slightly sharper payoff. Still, as a children’s piece about community, courage, and music it’s practically flawless.

I read this to my little niece and we both fell in love with Poppy immediately. The opening image — Sunfield painted by the morning, the bakery door like a slice of sun — is so warm and visual that you can almost smell the cinnamon. I adored the tiny details: Poppy’s ribbon drawer, how she chooses a ribbon for the day, and that little strawberry-stitched ribbon fading in the pale morning. The gathering scene where the village comes together with ribbons and songs felt genuinely tender, and the hesitant moth who keeps treasures is such a lovely, shy bit of magic. It’s quiet bravery done right: small actions building hope. Perfect for bedtime and for teaching kids about community and courage without being preachy.