The Hedgehog Who Made His Bed for Winter

It was autumn in the woods. The leaves had turned yellow and red, and the evenings came early. Harry the little hedgehog gave a yawn that made all his prickles wobble.

“Winter will soon be here,” he said. “Then I must go to sleep. But first I need to make my bed.”

Harry trotted off on his little feet. Tip, tap. Tip, tap.

Under the spruce tree, Squirrel was sorting pine cones.

“Squirrel,” said Harry. “Do you have anything soft for my bed?”

Squirrel thought for a moment. Then she picked a piece of moss from a stone.

“Here,” said Squirrel. “Moss is soft and green, and it smells of the woods.”

“Thank you,” said Harry. He took the moss and trotted on. Tip, tap. Tip, tap.

By the stream, a little bird sat preening her feathers.

“Bird,” said Harry. “Do you have anything soft for my bed?”

Bird gave herself a shake, and a feather floated down, white and light.

“Here,” said Bird. “A feather is warm and light as a breath.”

“Thank you,” said Harry. He took the feather and trotted on. Tip, tap. Tip, tap.

At the top of the hill stood the old oak tree. It was the oldest tree in the woods, and it still had plenty of leaves.

“Oak,” said Harry. “Do you have anything soft for my bed?”

A little breeze blew. Oak sighed through all his branches, and the leaves drifted down, one by one, yellow and brown and dry. They landed in a pile right at Harry’s feet.

“Here,” whispered Oak. “My leaves are dry and rustly. Underneath them it’s warm all winter long, until spring comes.”

“Thank you,” said Harry.

He laid the moss down first. On top he put the feather. Then he crawled under Oak’s leaves, and they settled over him like a blanket.

It was soft. It was warm. It smelled of the woods.

Harry curled himself into a small, round ball. He breathed in, slowly. And out, even more slowly.

Far away under the spruce tree, Squirrel settled down in her nest. By the stream, Bird tucked her head under her wing. Oak stood still and kept watch.

And the first little snowflake fell, ever so quietly, on the pile of leaves where Harry slept.

Goodnight, Harry. Goodnight, woods. Goodnight, you.