It was Spring cleaning time in the Sunny Meadow and Mole was in his burrow, tidying up with a broom. Dust motes danced in the faint light of his lantern, and the familiar, earthy smell of his home was thick in the air.
Blinking in the brilliant light, Mole gazed around in sheer astonishment. The world above was so much bigger than he had ever imagined.
He held it flat in his palm, watching the needle shiver and dance for a moment before it settled with steadfast certainty, pointing North.
A butterfly fluttered above him, its wings not just blue, but a pure, radiant blue he had never known existed.
“Hello!” Said a voice quite near him. The sudden sound startled Mole out of his happy reverie. He stopped mid-stride and looked around, peering into the sea of flowers.
“Good morning to you,” Mole said kindly and clearly, so as not to frighten the little creature. “I have a very important task for you, if you would be so kind. I need a message delivered to my sister.”
The two friends shared a brief, warm hug. Rabbit gave a final, cheerful wave and bounded back into the familiar, sunny meadow. Mole watched until the flash of his white tail was lost in the tall grass. Now he was truly alone.
The squirrel, startled to be addressed so directly, chattered and zipped halfway down the trunk of the tree, stopping to hang upside-down for a better look.
His bright eyes widened with the importance of the news. He scampered the rest of the way down the trunk and landed with a soft thump on the path.
Just a little way off the path, nestled at the base of a gnarled oak root, was a mushroom so flawless it looked as though it had been placed there by a jeweler.
He unfolded the paper to reveal his provisions: two thick slices of his own seed cake, packed with caraway and poppy seeds; a small, hard cheese that was perfect for traveling; and a crisp, shiny red apple.
The cheerful chatter of the forest birds quieted, replaced by a profound hush, broken only by the whisper of the wind in the high branches. Mole trudged onward, a pleasant weariness settled deep in his bones.
The air was still and silver, and the trees around the clearing seemed to watch with a silent, ancient wisdom. From the deepest shadows, a figure emerged, moving with a grace that made no sound. It was a huge and stately stag.
He looked down the path that disappeared into the morning mist and felt a surge of optimism. “Surely I shall reach Badger’s home by the afternoon at the latest.”
Mole stopped dead in his tracks, his ears ringing. “What is that horrible racket?” he exclaimed to himself, his whiskers twitching with indignation. It sounded as if someone was taking an axe to one of the fine old trees.
“Why, here you are, Mole,” his deep voice was a familiar, comforting grumble. “And about time too. I had all but given up on seeing you today.”
