It was the fullest, richest part of the summer in New England.  The
afternoon shadows were lengthening, the blackberries were deep purple
and plump on the cane, and the soft breezes sifted the yellow powder
from the fuzzy yellow goldenrod blossoms.  The bees were starting to
show some wear and tear, and the occasional "plonk!" of a shiny new
acorn could be heard beneath the oaks.  It was the end of August, and
the hoomins packed up their suitcases, and left the house for their
annual vacation.  The dog, the Noble Allis Chompers was dropped off to
spend the time with local family.  Arrangements were made with the nice
girl down the street to check in on Ping and Puma, and France, the
Fricken' Pygmy Hedgehog every day.  The hoomins would be gone for ten
days.  But while they were gone, someone was coming over for an extended
stay in the country...the Otters.
 
When we left off...Puma, completely unsettled at the thought of torching
condominiums (even if the hoomins kinda deserved it) burrowed beneath
some soft, clean towels and began concentrating on her mantra.  She
wanted no more of the conversation in the living room.  Surprisingly,
France wanted no more of it, either.  The bellicose little pincushion
drew the line at arson, apparently.  That left just Ping and the
otters...
 
And Ping was a little bit scared.  Fire?  Ping was afraid of fire.
That is what he said to the otters, just then.  Fire hurts people, and
animals.
 
The First immediately explained that they didn't want to hurt any people
or animals, they just wanted to destroy the six empty, not quite complete
condominiums that were built right on top of the creek's old bed.  The
hoomins had drained it into a culvert there, the creek ran completely
underground for a thousand feet, now.  You couldn't even tell that there
was a creek there anymore, unless you knew where to look.  The First
otter explained this to Ping carefully, but Ping could see in the otter's
eyes that he didn't really believe that this would make any difference,
any more than Ping did.  Sometimes we say the things our broken hearts
have considered and cast away as hard things to be accepted, but we still
have to say the words out loud.  We have to hear ourselves say them, to
really accept how things must be.
 
"We could burn them all down, and then we could wrap a chain around the
culvert, and pull!" said the First otter.  "We could, we could..." And
there, he gulped hard once or twice, and simply began to weep.  He put
his soft, gentle paws up to his face, and simply wept.  He slumped down
to the floor next to his brother and accepted the Second otter's
comforting embrace but still, he wept.  Sometimes Ping could make out
a word or two through the tears;"kits", "meadow", "why?  Oh, why?" It was
so very sad.
[Posted in FML issue 5374]