rat and mole

The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one’s ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.

There was the old Disney Wind and the Willows tape I would watch at my Grammie’s house, always nestled close to the television until someone would tell me to move back, I was ruining my eyes.  But I never read the story and only brought the audiobook home last week on a whim.  Now I can’t listen to it without smiling and feeling that good belly-hunger you get when you are reading something really wonderful.

That belly-hunger for the hot sun “pulling everything green and bushy and spiky up out of the earth towards him, as if by strings.”  For “toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in it in great golden drops, like honey.”  For more of Toad and Mole and dear Ratty.  And Badger, who “never said ‘I told you so,’ or, ‘Just what I always said,’ or remarked that they ought to have done so-and-so, or ought not to have done something else.”

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