Spike the Hedgehog and the Angry Storm

It was a warm, windy afternoon. Spike the hedgehog sat under the old pine tree, building a tower out of pinecones. He set one pinecone on top of another, slowly and very carefully. The tower was already almost as tall as he was. “Just one more, and it will be the tallest tower in the whole forest!” he whispered. Then the wind gave a puff, and the tower came tumbling down. The pinecones rolled across the moss in every direction.

Spike stamped his foot. His cheeks turned red and hot. The prickles on his back bristled like a scrubbing brush. His paws curled up all by themselves into tight little balls. Something rumbled and grumbled in his tummy. A small, dark cloud appeared over his head, and a flash of lightning crackled out of it. It was the anger cloud. It always came when Spike got very, very angry.

“Go away!” Spike shouted at the cloud. He took a big breath and blew at it with all his might: whoo, whoo, whoo! But the cloud did not go away at all. It puffed itself up, grew bigger, and turned even darker. Spike began stacking the pinecones again, as fast as he could. His paws were trembling, so the pinecones kept tumbling down, one after another. A drop fell from the cloud right onto his nose: plip, plop. “Nothing ever works!” he huffed, and plopped down on the moss.

Just then, Rusty the fox came along the path. He saw the scattered pinecones and the dark cloud above his friend’s head. He sat down beside Spike, but not too close, so the prickles wouldn’t poke him. “I can see you’re very angry,” he said calmly. “The wind knocked my tower over!” grumbled Spike. “And the cloud won’t go away, no matter how much I blow and blow!” “I know how that feels,” said Rusty, nodding. “I had a cloud like that once, too.”

“I once drew a big sun in the sand with a stick,” Rusty told him. “Its rays reached all the way to the path.” “Then the rain came and washed it away in a blink.” The fox sighed at the memory. “An anger cloud showed up over me, too. I blew at it with all my might, just like you.” “And then?” asked Spike from behind his bristling prickles. “It grew and grew,” Rusty laughed. “Anger clouds don’t like to be hurried. They like slow, calm breaths. Let me show you.”

Rusty held up one paw, as if he were holding a flower. “Breathe in through your nose, like you’re sniffing a flower,” he said. Then he held up his other paw, as if he were holding a candle. “Breathe out through your mouth, like you’re blowing out a candle. But slowly, slowly, so the flame only dances.” Spike tried. He sniffed an invisible flower and puffed at an invisible candle. Breathe in – flower. Breathe out – candle. The cloud stopped flashing and only rumbled softly.

“Once more,” whispered Rusty. Breathe in – flower. Breathe out – candle. Only a few teeny raindrops fell from the cloud now. The prickles on the hedgehog’s back slowly lay down. Breathe in – flower. Breathe out – candle. With every breath, the cloud grew smaller and lighter. Soon all that was left was a little white cloudlet, round as a ring. A cloudlet is a teeny, fluffy cloud.

“And now, the tower?” asked Rusty. Spike nodded and finally smiled. He started building the tower all over again. This time with Rusty. “First, the base,” said the fox. “The base is the very bottom of the tower. Everything else stands on it.” They laid a wide circle of the biggest pinecones on the moss. Higher up they set smaller ones, and right on the very top they placed one tiny pinecone. The white cloudlet hung over Spike and watched them build, full of curiosity.

Suddenly the wind blew again. The tower wobbled, and the tiny pinecone from the top dropped down at Spike’s feet. The hedgehog felt his cheeks getting hot again. The cloudlet over his head began to darken. But this time Spike closed his eyes all by himself. Breathe in – flower. Breathe out – can… He didn’t even have time to finish. The cloudlet grew bright again and floated off high into the sky, light as a feather.

Spike opened his eyes and gave a quiet laugh. “I got a little angry,” he said. “But it’s already passing. Could you hand me that tiny pinecone?” Rusty handed it to him with a smile. Spike set the little pinecone on top of the tower, carefully, like the most precious treasure. When the wind blew for the third time, the tower only wobbled a little. The wide base held it tight. And just in case, Spike sniffed an invisible flower.

In the evening, the sun tucked itself behind the pines. The pinecone tower stood under the tree, golden in the last rays. Spike was already lying in his bed of soft leaves. He took one more slow breath, just to say good night. Breathe in – flower. Breathe out – candle. A small white cloudlet drifted across the darkening sky. In the grass, the crickets were playing softly. Good night, Spike.