🎵Birds Chirping🎵 🎵Birds Chirping🎵 Bastion ran out of the garden gate into a sandy lane.
He was barefoot.
And he went down the lane till he came to a grassy bank.
Now I must tell you about Bastion.
That his nickname is Bash.
And he was a very playful boy.
Rambunctious,
But not rude.
And he knew how to run down the lane at just the moment that Mama might be seeking him for some kind of chore.
Bastion caught ahold of the bunches of grass and pulled himself up the grassy bank.
There was a footpath at the top,
Which went straight in between fir trees.
And as Bash ran along,
The trees stood on either side of him like green walls.
They were very near together.
Even at the top,
The space between them was so narrow that the sky seemed to come down and the clouds to be sailing just over them as if they would catch and tear in the fir trees.
The path of Bastion's was so little used that it had grown green.
And as he ran,
He knocked dead branches out of his way with delight.
Just as Bash was getting tired of running,
He reached the end of the path and came out into the wheat field.
The wheat did not grow very closely together,
And so the spaces between them were filling up with azure cornflowers.
Bastion thought he was safely away now,
So he stopped to catch his breath and look.
There were the fir trees behind him,
That thick wall of green,
And hedges on the right and left,
And the wheat sloped down towards the ash copse in the hollow.
No one was in the field,
Only the fir trees,
The green hedges,
The yellow,
The wheat,
The flowers,
And the sun overhead.
Bastion kept himself quite still.
He expected that any moment,
The magic would begin,
And something,
Something would speak to him.
His cheeks,
Which had been flushed with running,
Grew less hot.
His blue eyes,
Which had been wide open as they always were when full of mischief,
Became softer,
And his long eyelashes drooped over them.
But as he waited,
The magic did not begin.
Bastion walked on slowly into the wheat,
Which rose nearly to his head,
Though it was not yet so tall as it would be before the reapers came in the autumn.
He did not break any of the stalks or bend them down or step on them.
He passed carefully between them with his bare toes,
And they yielded on either side.
The wheat ears were pale and gold,
Having only just left off their green,
And they surrounded him on all sides as if he were bathing.
A butterfly,
Painted a velvety red with white spots,
Came floating along the surface of the corn and played around his cap,
Which was a little higher and was so tinted by the sun that the butterfly was inclined to settle on it.
Bash put up his hand to catch the butterfly,
Forgetting his secret in his desire to touch it.
The butterfly was too quick.
With a snap of his wings,
He disdainfully mocked the idea of being caught.
Away the butterfly went.
Bash nearly stepped on a humble bumblebee.
Bzzz!
The bee was so alarmed,
He actually crept up his knickers to the knee,
And then he knocked himself against a wheat ear when he started to fly.
Bash kept quite still while the humble bumblebee was on his knee,
Knowing that he should not be stung if he did not move.
He knew,
Too,
That the humble bees have stings,
Though people often say they have not,
And the reason people think they do not possess them is that because the humble bee is so good-natured and never stings unless very much provoked.
Another bumblebee went along over the tips of the wheat.
Bzzz!
As he passed,
And then a scarlet fly,
And next a bright yellow wasp who was telling a friend flying behind him that he knew where there was such a capital piece of wood to bite up into tiny little pieces and make into paper for the nest in the thatch.
But his friend wanted to go to the house because Bastion's mother had put a ripe pear pie right there on the windowsill.
Next came a moth,
And after the moth a golden fly,
Three gnats and a mouse that ran along the dry ground with a curious sniffling rustle close to Bastion.
A shrill cry came down out of the air,
And Bash looked up to see two swallows,
Or swifts,
Turning circles,
And as they passed each other they shrieked.
Their voices were so shrill.
They were only saying that in a month their little baby swifts in the slates would be able to fly.
While he sat so quietly on the ground and hidden by the wheat,
He heard a cuckoo such a long way off.
It sounded like a watch,
If the watch was covered up.
The cuckoo did not come full and distinct.
It was such a tiny little cuckoo caught in the hollow of Bastion's ear.
The cuckoo must have been a mile away.
Suddenly Bash thought something went over,
And yet he did not see it.
Perhaps it was the shadow.
He looked up and saw a very large bird,
But not very far up,
Farther than he could fling or shoot his arrows,
And the bird was fluttering his wings,
But did not move away further,
As if he had been tied up in the air.
Bash knew,
Aha,
This is a hawk,
And the hawk was staying there to see if that little mouse or little bird was still nearby in the wheat.
After a minute the hawk stopped fluttering and lifted his wings together,
As a butterfly does when he shuts his,
And down the hawk came straight into the corn.
Go away,
Go away,
Shouted Bastion,
Jumping up and flinging his cap,
And the hawk,
Dreadfully and terribly cross,
Checked himself and rose again with an angry rush.
So the mouse escaped,
But Bash could not find his cap for some time.
Then he went on,
And still the ground,
Sloping,
Sent him down the hill,
Till he came close to the wooded tree within the copse.
Some sparrows came out of the wooded copse,
And he stopped and saw one of them perched on a stalk of wheat,
With one foot above the other,
Sideways,
So that he could pick at the ear and get the corn.
Bash watched that sparrow clear the ear of corn,
And then he moved,
And the sparrow flew back to the copse,
Where they chattered at him for disturbing them.
There was a ditch between the corn and the wooded copse,
And a stream lit.
Bash picked up a stone and threw it in,
And that splash frightened a rabbit,
Who slipped over the bank and into a hole.
The boughs of a great oak reached out across the corn and made so pleasant a shade,
That Bastion,
Who was now pretty hot from walking in the sun,
Sat down on the bank of the stream lit,
With his feet dangling over it,
And he watched the floating grass sway slowly as that water ran.
Gently,
He leaned back,
Till his back rested on the sloping ground.
He raised one knee and left the other foot over the verge,
Where the tip of the tallest rushes just touched it.
Before he had been there a minute,
He remembered the secret,
The secret which a fern had taught him.
First,
If he wanted to know anything,
Or hear a story,
Or what the grass was saying,
Or the oak leaves were singing,
He must be careful not to interfere,
As he had done just now,
With a butterfly by trying to catch him.
Fortunately,
That butterfly was a nice butterfly and really kind-hearted,
But sometimes,
If you interfered with one thing,
It would tell another thing,
And they would all know in a moment,
And stop talking,
And never say a word.
Once,
While they were all talking pleasantly,
Bash caught a fly in his hand.
He felt a tickle as the fly stepped on it,
And he shut up his little fist so quickly that he caught the fly in the hollow between the palm and the fingers.
The fly went buzzing and he rushed to get out,
But Bash laughed,
So the fly buzzed again,
And just told the grass,
And the grass told the bushes,
And everything knew in a moment,
And Bastion never heard another word all day.
Yet sometimes now,
They all knew something about him,
And they would go on talking.
You see,
They all rather petted and spoiled him.
Next,
If Bash did not hear them conversing,
The fern said,
He must touch a little piece of grass,
And put it against his cheek,
Or a leaf,
And kiss it,
And say,
Leaf,
Leaf,
Tell them I am here.
Now,
While he was lying down,
And the tips of the rushes touched his foot,
He remembered this secret.
So,
He moved the rush with his foot,
And said,
Rush,
Rush,
Tell them I am here.
Immediately,
There came a little wind,
And the wheat swung to and fro,
The oak leaves rustled,
The rushes bowed,
And the shadows slipped forwards and backwards again.
Then it was still,
And Bastion laid down,
With his feet dangling in the water,
Listening carefully to nature,
And listening just as carefully,
For his mama's voice,
Calling out,
That the pear pie was ready,
For a little boy,
Who was ready to run on home.
Oink,
Oink,
Oink.
Oink,
Oink,
Oink.
Oink,
Oink,
Oink.
Oink,
Oink,
Oink.
Oink,
Oink.
