An adaptation of Kenneth Grahame’s “Wind in the Willows.”

Excited more than ever, Mole recalled last year’s adventures with his friends Rattie, Toad, and grumpy old Badger, with glee. The carriage rides, fast cars, lazy lounges, riding the river in Ratties’ row boat, picnics, saving Toad hall and the crazy rescue of his friend. What could top last year; he hoped for something grand. Even so, as with each year, change occurs; within the body he felt the aches of his age. His hip hurt, and cracking his knuckles helped ease the throb in his hands.

Setting about his yearly work, Mole organized the clutter from a lazy winter. He swept the floors, straightened the furniture. Not that a Mole has much furniture as they live in a hole and moving furniture in and out is a big to do. Even so Mole busied himself about his humble home. Taking a moment Mole dug out the entrance and squeezed, brushed, pulled, pushed, scrooged, and popped out the top of his hole and bright sunlight burst through the entrance. Blinded, Mole put his paw above his eyes and snout. He sniffed loud, breathing in a face full of dust, and sneezed, rolling over the back of his hill into a soft bed of daisies the local group of lady gardener squirrels had planted for their charity event.

A young rabbit hopped by, seeing Mole in distress, she helped him up, brushed him off. “Are you okay Sir, it seems you had a terrible fall?” Glad for the help and act of charitable kindness Mole smiled with his answer, “thank you, young miss, I will be fine. I will be fine. The suns an awful find friend and foe to us who live most our lives in the underground.”

“Well sir, glad your okay,” twitching her ears and nose, then breaking away in a jumping sprint giggling loudly into the forest. Life sprung to action at the commotion. Flowers slammed closed, bugs scattered about, chirping out warnings, and birds flew into the air, fluttering down and feathers everywhere. The joys of youth, Mole pondered watching her disappear in the thick grass.

(TBC)