Welcome to the Forest

“Come back! You’re not the parade!”

That was Rilo. And the thing he was chasing was a twig ring, rolling down the forest path with a little bell tied to its rim.

Ting-ting!

I’m Ori. Come along with me. I was right beside Rilo when the wind borrowed his parade bell.

Rilo had promised to ring the first note outside his home. His friends were waiting there with acorn shakers and pinecone drums. But a gust had tipped his ring upright and sent it rolling away.

“I need that bell,” Rilo puffed. “I haven’t even marched yet!”

The ring bumped over a root. Rilo hopped over it. The ring slipped under a branch. Rilo ducked.

His tail did not.

A leaf landed on his tail and rode along like a passenger.

“No tickets!” Rilo told it.

The path curved toward a soft heap of fallen leaves. The ring rolled straight in.

And the bell stopped ringing.

Rilo pushed his nose into the heap. The ring lay flat, buried under leaves. Its little ribbon stuck out between the twigs, but the bell was hidden.

“I’ll scoop up everything,” he decided. “Then it can’t get away.”

He fetched the gathering basket from beside the path. I held it steady while he filled it with great pawfuls of leaves, acorns, and pinecones.

In went the ring, too.

Something gave a tiny ting.

“Got you!” Rilo cried.

He lifted the basket. An acorn rolled beneath a pinecone, the pinecone nudged the ring, and a shower of leaves flopped onto his head.

Rilo stood perfectly still.

“Am I a bush?” he asked.

“A bush with a basket,” I said.

He shook the leaves off his ears. The bell was somewhere in his basket. Now he had to find it.

Rilo hurried toward home, giving the basket a little shake with every step.

Rattle. Scrunch. Clack.

“If it rings, I’ll hear where it is!”

But the acorns knocked together. The pinecones scraped. The ring rattled against the handle.

So Rilo shook a little faster.

Now his whole basket sounded like a parade falling down the stairs.

He set it on the grass. His ears drooped sideways.

“I caught everything except the sound I need.”

I settled beside him.

“We can stay here a moment,” I said.

Rilo’s paws stopped. The basket stopped. Between two rustling leaves came the smallest sound of all.

His ears lifted.

Rilo whispered, “Wait. Listen. Try again.”

This time, he did not shake the basket.

Beside the path were the twig circles we used for sorting forest treasures. Rilo carried his basket over and laid the runaway ring beside them.

He placed the acorns in one circle. The pinecones went in another. The leaves stayed outside both.

One acorn tried to roll back.

“Oh, no. Your marching is finished,” Rilo murmured, catching it with one paw.

He lifted out the last leaf. Then he tipped the empty basket gently.

Nothing rattled.

Zero treasures inside. And no bell.

Rilo’s paws twitched. He wanted to scoop everything up again.

Instead, he put them on his knees.

“Wait. Listen. Try again.”

A breeze brushed the runaway ring.

Ting.

Rilo turned toward it.

“Not the basket,” he said. “The ring!”

The breeze tipped the ring onto its edge again.

Rilo reached out—then changed his mind. Chasing it had made it roll farther before. He stepped ahead and laid the empty basket on its side, right in the ring’s path.

The ring rolled into the basket and settled against its woven bottom.

Caught. No heap of leaves this time.

Rilo knelt beside it. He followed the little ribbon around the twigs with one careful paw.

There was a curled leaf tucked underneath.

And inside that leaf was his bell, still tied to the ring! During the tumble, the leaf had wrapped around it and muffled its voice.

“You’ve been wearing a blanket!” Rilo said.

He gently unfolded the leaf.

Ting-ting!

Rilo’s tail swept the grass.

“I could hear you when I stopped making all that noise!”

He held the ring flat in both paws. This time, the wind could ruffle his ears, but it could not roll his bell away.

We carried the treasures back to Rilo’s home. Acorns for the shakers. Pinecones for the drums. And one curled leaf, which Rilo put beside his door.

His friends were waiting on the grass. Their paws began to shuffle, ready to march.

Rilo lifted his bell.

Then he lowered it, smiling.

“Wait. Listen. Try again.”

The shakers rested. The drums were still.

Ting-ting!

There was the first note, clear enough for everyone to hear.

And off they marched, around Rilo’s home, with Rilo at the front and me beside him.

The ring traveled, too.

In a basket.

And that is our story for today. When your tries aren’t helping, pause and listen before you try again.