For your reading pleasure…a flash fiction about today. Enjoy!
“Morning, Beaver,” Deer said, munching on some dry bark. He longed to again taste the sweet green grasses and the rich moss. He shivered, attempting to warm his aching muscles. “You’re out awful early this year.”
“Morning, Deer,” Beaver replied, searching under a mound of snow for something. “Ahh, yes. My food froze inside my storage room, so I gotta hunt for something more. This winter has been especially bad.”
Deer nodded. “That it has. My does have lost several babes.”
Beaver’s furry brow furrowed sympathetically. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Well,” said Deer, shrugging his shoulders. “That is the way of life. It could be worse.”
Beaver gave a quizzical look. “How so?”
“Well,” said Deer, leaning close to whisper. “We could be Groundhog.”
“What would be so wrong with being Groundhog?” Beaver asked.
“I guess you wouldn’t know since you’re normally sleeping right now. The humans have this strange tradition of pulling poor Groundhog from his slumber every year around this time. They say he can predict the weather. It’s the darnedest thing!” Deer guffawed.
“Oh that’s terrible. Poor Groundhog.” Beaver lowered his head. “How does he predict the weather?”
“I’m not quite sure. Something about his shadow. The humans keep raving about whether or not he sees it.” Deer rolled his eyes.
“Is he in his den,” Beaver asked, concerned. “We should go check on him.”
The two friends trudged to Groundhog’s house and found the place deserted. They searched for him, but with no luck.
Rabbit hopped by as they were about to give up. “Whatcha doin?” he asked.
“Looking for Groundhog,” Deer replied.
“Didn’t you hear? He saw his shadow. The humans have turned him into stew.”
Deer and Beaver stood, dumbstruck at this news. “How many weeks of winter will we have now?” Dear wondered.