That same morning, a second children's story was born out of three more Pieces, I was glad to tell it, yet am much happier to see it retold through her voice:
"A lonely little Chicken stood scratting one afternoon in the dust of a large yellow field. She scratted all day long at the same dry spot, for she believed she was a Bunny and was trying to build a Bunny House in the ground, as Bunnies do.
She laboured day and night, tearing her small toes on the stones, but to no avail: each time, after much time, she had managed to make but a small pit in the earth, the Summer wind came and blew the earth back from whence it came, scattering her work out into the mellow flatness of the field. But still she scratted on, by day and night, to build a house to live in, for how else could a Bunny live but in a house under the ground?
Yet another time, and this time more than ever before, she had dug into the ground a full basin of air, just about the right size for her to nestle her body in. But this time the Autumn rains came and where air or Bunny should have been, there was muddy water and dark earth. But still she scratted on, day and night.
And then crept Winter over the field, draping its cape of ice and snow over the ground as it stalked on by. At first sight of the snows the Chicken was disheartened, but then she found, as she bent to move the stones and grit with her beak, that the snows made the land thicken into lumps that could be scratted and picked away with ease! By this time she had become stronger, and worked with the land as five Chickens put together.
In a matter of days she had made a small burrow, which, over the following days without snow, became a deep tunnel with a deep reservoir at the bottom with a chamber off to one side, a small way from the bottom where she could sleep without fear of snow or rain touching her. When it was all but complete, she sat back and puzzled: what was it that Bunnies did once they had built their houses?
No sooner had she finished her hard work than she was wandering out into the tired old field in search of Bunny Houses containing other Bunnies whom she could ask what to do. An hour had passed when she came upon the first Bunny House and craned her neck down through the narrow passage. Within, wrapped in great snoozing darkness, was a small family of Bunnies – a Mother Bunny and five or six Child Bunnies, all fast asleep! The Chicken was saddened: because they were asleep, she couldn't ask them what they normally do in their houses.
She wandered on across the greying plateau before her, and stumbled upon another entrance to a Bunny House. Peering in, she saw a big Father Bunny sheltering by himself, his eyes softly closed like night sky on the hills. The Chicken smiled and shed a small tear from her earth-black eye, wishing he would wake, yet marvelling all the while at his profound peace. She retreated from the hole and made her way onward into the dark plains.
Night coursed over the ground like a hum, broken only by the small peaks and troughs of moonlight on the stones. The cold clung to her feathers like tar, made thicker with her own mounting exhaustion. Spotting a denser patch of dark beyond her, the familiar sign of a Bunny House, she quickened her brittle feet and gathered herself impatiently toward its mouth. The warm darkness revealed still more of itself and grew to a girth sufficient to allow the Chicken's whole body to nestle its way inside.
Within this ample Bunny House, she heard a faint scratching sound and peered in as deep as her eyes would let her – before her, and with no less surprise than she, was a Chicken! Though startled, each offered the other a welcoming cluck, and settled down together on the floor where the newfound Chicken offered her guest some honey from a nearby pot. They lived out their winters together in this way through the rest of their lives, waking from the long and languorous stretch of the snows with a drop of the sweetest honey."
"A lonely little Chicken stood scratting one afternoon in the dust of a large yellow field. She scratted all day long at the same dry spot, for she believed she was a Bunny and was trying to build a Bunny House in the ground, as Bunnies do.
She laboured day and night, tearing her small toes on the stones, but to no avail: each time, after much time, she had managed to make but a small pit in the earth, the Summer wind came and blew the earth back from whence it came, scattering her work out into the mellow flatness of the field. But still she scratted on, by day and night, to build a house to live in, for how else could a Bunny live but in a house under the ground?
Yet another time, and this time more than ever before, she had dug into the ground a full basin of air, just about the right size for her to nestle her body in. But this time the Autumn rains came and where air or Bunny should have been, there was muddy water and dark earth. But still she scratted on, day and night.
And then crept Winter over the field, draping its cape of ice and snow over the ground as it stalked on by. At first sight of the snows the Chicken was disheartened, but then she found, as she bent to move the stones and grit with her beak, that the snows made the land thicken into lumps that could be scratted and picked away with ease! By this time she had become stronger, and worked with the land as five Chickens put together.
In a matter of days she had made a small burrow, which, over the following days without snow, became a deep tunnel with a deep reservoir at the bottom with a chamber off to one side, a small way from the bottom where she could sleep without fear of snow or rain touching her. When it was all but complete, she sat back and puzzled: what was it that Bunnies did once they had built their houses?
No sooner had she finished her hard work than she was wandering out into the tired old field in search of Bunny Houses containing other Bunnies whom she could ask what to do. An hour had passed when she came upon the first Bunny House and craned her neck down through the narrow passage. Within, wrapped in great snoozing darkness, was a small family of Bunnies – a Mother Bunny and five or six Child Bunnies, all fast asleep! The Chicken was saddened: because they were asleep, she couldn't ask them what they normally do in their houses.
She wandered on across the greying plateau before her, and stumbled upon another entrance to a Bunny House. Peering in, she saw a big Father Bunny sheltering by himself, his eyes softly closed like night sky on the hills. The Chicken smiled and shed a small tear from her earth-black eye, wishing he would wake, yet marvelling all the while at his profound peace. She retreated from the hole and made her way onward into the dark plains.
Night coursed over the ground like a hum, broken only by the small peaks and troughs of moonlight on the stones. The cold clung to her feathers like tar, made thicker with her own mounting exhaustion. Spotting a denser patch of dark beyond her, the familiar sign of a Bunny House, she quickened her brittle feet and gathered herself impatiently toward its mouth. The warm darkness revealed still more of itself and grew to a girth sufficient to allow the Chicken's whole body to nestle its way inside.
Within this ample Bunny House, she heard a faint scratching sound and peered in as deep as her eyes would let her – before her, and with no less surprise than she, was a Chicken! Though startled, each offered the other a welcoming cluck, and settled down together on the floor where the newfound Chicken offered her guest some honey from a nearby pot. They lived out their winters together in this way through the rest of their lives, waking from the long and languorous stretch of the snows with a drop of the sweetest honey."
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