Elsie’s Way Around

The rain had stopped, but a wide, shiny puddle lay across Elsie’s path.

Elsie was a young hedgehog, and night was her favorite time to explore. While the woods grew quiet, she padded along beneath wet branches, sniffing the cool air. Somewhere ahead, beside a fallen log, a patch of tasty beetles waited beneath the bark.

“Just a little supper,” she said. “Then I’ll find a dry place to rest.”

Elsie knew the path well. Usually, she went straight past the old stump, around the mossy stone, and down to the log. But tonight the rain had filled the low spot in the trail. The puddle spread from one side to the other, wide as a blanket and dark as the space beneath a bush.

She stepped toward it, then stopped. Mud squished under her front paws. The bank at the edge was slick, and the water looked deeper in the middle.

“Not that way,” Elsie decided.

She backed onto the firmer path. A drop of rainwater slid from an oak leaf and landed on her nose.

“Brr!” she squeaked, and rubbed her nose against her paw.

On the far side of the puddle, the fallen log rested across the ground. Its bark was rough and ridged, with a little roof of moss along the top. Elsie could almost smell the beetles tucked inside. Hedgehogs ate insects and other tiny creatures, and beetles made a fine supper.

She looked left. The mud was broad and slippery there. She looked right. The ferny bank rose beside the puddle, its fronds bowed with rain.

Elsie tried to see a way through, but the ferns brushed together and hid the ground beneath them.

“Perhaps I should wait,” she whispered.

Then her stomach gave a small, rumbling grumble.

Elsie smiled. “Or perhaps I should look a little closer.”

She moved along the edge, carefully keeping her paws on the firm path. Beneath the ferns, she noticed a narrow line of earth, darker than the dry trail but not muddy. It curved around the puddle like a little brown ribbon.

Elsie leaned forward. The way was small, and the fronds drooped over it. She could not yet see where it led.

She set one paw beside the fern and tested the ground.

The earth held firm beneath Elsie’s paw.

She placed another paw on the narrow strip and waited. No squish. No slide. Just steady ground.

“I think I’ve found a way,” she said.

The strip curved under the ferns, between the bank and the puddle. It was only wide enough for Elsie’s small feet. Fronds brushed her back, and drops of rainwater plopped onto the leaves around her.

She took one careful step. Then another.

A fern frond dipped across the path. Elsie paused and nudged it gently with her nose. The frond lifted just enough for her to pass beneath.

“Excuse me,” she murmured.

The puddle spread beside her. Its surface trembled when a raindrop fell, making a round ripple that traveled toward the edge. Elsie kept her eyes on the firm earth. She did not hurry. One paw, then the next. The log waited beyond the bend.

At the narrowest spot, the strip seemed to vanish under a curtain of fern leaves. Elsie stopped. The leaves crowded close, and the puddle’s muddy edge came near her toes.

She could turn back, but she had come this far. Elsie lowered her head and peered between the fronds. There it was: a small patch of solid ground, then another, all joining into a curved trail.

“Careful feet,” she reminded herself. “They know what to do.”

She tested the next patch. Firm. She crossed it, then found the next one. The ferns tickled her sides, and one brushed her ear. Elsie gave a quiet giggle.

At last, the bank eased down. Her paws reached the dry ground on the other side of the puddle.

“I made it!” she whispered.

The fallen log stood only a few steps away. Elsie hurried no more than she needed to. She padded to the bark and sniffed along its ridges. A beetle crawled from a crack, its legs pattering over the wood.

Elsie waited until it reached the ground, then gently caught it. A tasty beetle at last!

She carried her supper to a sheltered spot beneath the log, where the fern fronds made a leafy canopy. Her path was done, and the woods settled around her. Above, rainwater gathered on the leaves, ready to fall one drop at a time.

Elsie tucked herself beneath the ferns, close to the fallen log. The ground there was dry, and the broad leaves kept most of the rainwater away. A few drops still slipped from their tips and tapped the earth nearby.

She held the beetle between her paws and nibbled her supper. It was crisp and delicious. She ate slowly, listening to the night sounds around her: a twig creaking somewhere in the trees, a moth brushing past a leaf, and the quiet patter of water falling from the ferns.

“Good beetle,” Elsie murmured. “Good path, too.”

She looked back toward the puddle. From beneath the log, she could see a piece of it between the plants. The water lay still now, with a few rings spreading where the last drops landed. The narrow strip beneath the ferns was hidden again, but Elsie knew where it was. She had found it by looking closely and testing each step.

A cool breeze moved through the bank. Fern fronds swayed above her, then settled against one another. Elsie curled her paws beneath her chest. The wood smelled of wet bark and leaves, and the air felt fresh against her whiskers.

The beetle was gone, and her tummy felt pleasantly full. Elsie gave a small yawn. She rested beneath the ferns, sheltered beside the log, while rainwater dripped from the leaves.

Tap went a drop onto a fern.

Tip went another onto the moss.

Elsie listened to the little sounds, each one quieter than the last. Her eyes grew heavy, and her round ears relaxed against her spines. The woodland path was still there, the puddle was still there, and the beetle patch waited under the log for another night.

Elsie curled into a snug ball beneath her leafy shelter. She had reached the log, found her supper, and discovered a clever way around the water. The last drops tapped gently on the leaves as she rested beside the log, warm and content in the quiet night.