The Hush-Keeper of the Autumn Woods

Deep inside an old, old forest, where the trees had stood so long that no one could remember their age, there lived someone whom very few have ever seen. She was small and woolly, about the size of a rabbit standing on its hind legs, and she wore a grey cloak that brushed softly through the leaves as she walked. Her eyes were like two dewdrops at dawn. Her name was Mossa, and she was the Hush-Keeper. Every evening, when the sun sank behind the hills and the sky turned honey and purple, she began her round through the woods. Her task was simple and solemn: to quiet the world for the night.

It was autumn, and the woods wore orange and gold. The maple leaves glowed like little lanterns, and the birches had turned golden from crown to root. The ground was covered in a soft blanket of fallen leaves that rustled quietly as Mossa walked over them. She breathed the cool air in slowly. It tasted of woodsmoke, of apples, and of earth that would soon be sleeping. Mossa paused for a moment and looked around. 'Good evening, dear forest,' she whispered. 'It is time we got ourselves ready.' And the forest listened, for it knew her voice.

The first thing she met was the wind. It was dancing high up among the treetops, making the birch leaves spin down like gold coins. The wind was not unkind, only a little more boisterous than the night will allow. Mossa raised her small hand and said, very kindly: 'Dear wind, you have been running all day. You have carried birdsong and seed-pods and scents across the whole forest. Now you may sit down for a while.' The wind hesitated, as if it wanted to keep playing. But then it sighed, long and slow, and settled itself among the branches. The forest grew a little quieter.

When the wind had settled, Mossa could hear the squirrels. They were chattering loudly in a tall spruce, about seeds and cones and who had hidden what. They were arguing kindly, laughing, and sprinkling pine needles all over one another. Mossa walked up to the spruce and tapped lightly on the trunk. 'Good friends,' she said, 'the night is coming. Your hollows are warm, and you have gathered enough for today.' The squirrels fell silent in surprise and looked down at her. One by one they hopped into their hollows, arranged their tails like blankets over themselves, and closed their eyes. The spruce creaked contentedly.