Little Brave, the Robin and Big Fist the Bigfoot
(Best read to your children.)
It was the time of the year wildflowers shot up over night. Yesterday they were not here and today whole meadows wave with their glorious colors. Little Brave stood admiring the blue, gently swaying flower heads before him. The fragrant meadow he gazed upon belonged to Big Fist the white-eyed bigfoot.
Little Brave wished to walk straight through the middle of the meadow, taking in close-up the beauty of the newly “painted” scene, running the tips of his fingers across the dew wet petals. But he would not. Big Fist would surely pounce. Maybe even run him down. And then who knows what the mean ole bigfoot would do to him.
These bigfoot animals were not always to be feared, his elders had told Little Brave. But, they cautioned, when alone, it is the wise choice to swing wide of them. He was alone now. And so he would not take the middle path through the blue field.
He turned, thinking himself very wise, to the high path skirting along the bottom of Baker Mountain. The fine dirt and rotting pine needles were cool on his bare feet. A fat robin kept flying and landing just ahead of him as he made his way along the animal path of Baker Mountain.
A waterfall splashed into a moss green pool at Little Brave’s right as he passed. At first glance, Little Brave did not notice Big Fist sitting on a rock several feet to the left of the waterfall. The big shaggy animal dangled his feet off the rock and dipped a big toe of one of his feet into the emerald water.
The robin that had flown ahead of Little Brave landed softly at Big Fist’s knee. And then it hopped up onto the wide hairy leg. Big Fist seemed to smile as he flexed the thick muscles of his leg, playing with the bird. The robin flapped his wings in exaggerated motions and tipped from side to side as if he wanted Big Fist to think he was in danger of taking a tumble from the rippling leg.
Little Brave felt to laugh, but did not; he didn’t want to alter the extraordinary scene before him. But a dry limb snapped, alerting Big Fist to his presence, when Little Brave shuffled his feet to get just a little closer to the pair. The robin, in a feather-shedding flurry, flew across the waterfall’s face and landed in a near pine. Big Fist sprang into the green pool and swung his huge white eyes around, searching for what had made the snapping noise.
Little Brave dug his feet into the path and sprinted to the bottom of Baker Mountain as fast as he could. Curiously, he had noticed before he took flight, that matted in Big Fist’s tangled coat were blue flowers here
and there. And mostly they were visible in a line around his neck. Did Big Fist know how to make flower chains? Or did Big Fist have a girl pal that made a flower chain for him?
“This time of year was certainly filled with curiosities and beauty,” thought Little Brave.
The End
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