A sharp eye does not have to be in a hurry.
From Above
From above the courtyard, the eagle could see one crooked bench.
Everything else was ready: three rows of seats, a puppet theatre beneath the chestnut tree, and a line of flowering plants across the front of the little stage. The mole had spent the morning arranging them, turning each pot until its best flowers faced the audience.
The eagle circled once, then landed beside the crooked bench.
“A little to the left,” he said.
The mole pushed one end. The eagle checked the aisle and nodded.
Behind the puppet curtain, a mouse was trying to untangle a goose from a length of blue ribbon.
“Are we ready?” she called.
“Nearly,” said the eagle. “Shall we try the opening?”
The Back Row
He settled on the last bench while the mole went behind the theatre to help with the ribbon. A small bell rang. Above the painted river, a goose appeared and bowed.
“Good afternoon,” it announced. “I have come a very long way.”
Its beak opened. One wing rose. Below it, pink flowers trembled in the breeze.
The eagle waited.
“Did you like the dance?” the mouse called.
“What dance?”
A pause followed. The goose looked down at itself.
“The one I have just done.”
The eagle leaned sideways. Through a gap between two pots, he could make out one orange foot.
“Could you do it again?”
The goose began. A stalk of pink flowers nodded across the gap, and the foot disappeared.
The mouse emerged from behind the curtain, still wearing the goose over one paw. She came down the aisle and climbed onto the bench beside him.
“From here?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She looked toward the stage.
“Oh.”
The eagle lowered his head beside hers. At her height, even the goose’s beak would have been hidden.
A Different Arrangement
The mole came around the theatre, carrying the freed ribbon.
“Was it too long?” he asked.
“We couldn’t see it,” said the eagle.
The mole looked at the flowers.
“I measured them against the stage.”
He sat beside the mouse. For a moment, all three looked at the neat row of pots.
“Those are particularly good pink ones,” he said.
“They are,” said the mouse. “Could we keep them beside the theatre?”
The mole considered the space on either side, then stood up.
“Leave the little white ones at the front. They won’t grow any taller before the bell.”
He and the eagle carried the taller pots to the sides, leaving room behind them for the mouse to reach the curtain. Without the flowers across its middle, the painted river ran all the way from one bank to the other.
The mouse returned to her place. This time, the mole took the back bench while the eagle crouched beside him, his eyes just above the seat.
The goose bowed, lifted its orange feet, and performed a dance of considerable difficulty for someone made from a sock.
“Again?” called the mouse.
“Save some for the audience,” said the mole.
The First Seat
By the time the gate opened, the ribbon was tied above the theatre and the pots stood in two bright clusters beside it. The mole brushed soil from the aisle while the mouse counted her puppets behind the curtain.
A young hedgehog arrived first. He paused beside the front bench, then glanced toward the back, where the chestnut tree cast a patch of shade.
“Can I sit there?”
The eagle walked with him to the last row.
The hedgehog climbed up, tucked his feet beneath him, and looked toward the stage.
“Tell me what you can see,” said the eagle.
“A river. A curtain. Somebody’s orange foot.”
The foot vanished. Behind the curtain, the mouse gave a small cough.
The eagle stepped out of the hedgehog’s view and signalled for the bell.
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