Last year I offered to help Trudy with the parcels, as the snow was quite deep.
Trudy is a vole with a very rusty bike.
|Trudy had to be careful of the bridge as it got older|
Well, one day the log he used to cross the stream, was washed away in a storm and the tiny thing could not cross the water. He had built his home far from the cuckoos haunt, and logic would suggest it was time to move to the other side of the stream. But 'no!' said Trudy. The tiny thing might not be himself if he moved. He might decide not to care for the little orphan birds if he was in another home. All the tiny things knew that he would rather swim with the fluffy babies than change. So they rallied together and built him a wonderful bridge for him to cross ragging winter torrents and laughing summer trickles. I followed Trudy on her bike today to see this wonderful site. It stands on columns of the most magic acorns. They balance, supported by love and tradition. When I went to see it I had no idea I was about to see the 'third wonder' of the tiny world. Long may the balance continue.