How
Cleigh O’Possum Got A Pouch
From the telling of MMario
(originally posted on this thread)
(With apologies to Thornton W. Burgess, story-teller extraordinaire:)
One evening, as the sun set behind the Blue Hills, Mother West Wind gathered up the Merry Little Breezes into her bag, as she did every evening as she traveled homewards. The Merry Little Breezes were tired, but not overly so, as they had spent their day playing, as they spent every day. They had run along the babbling brook, wound their way amidst the trees of the Forest, raced up and down the Green Meadow and tousled Peter Rabbit's fur as he went about his business in the Briar Patch.
When Mother West Wind reached the Clearing in the Woods, the Merry Little Breezes begged her for a story. 'Tell us!" they cried. "Tell us a story of when the world was new, and you and Father Time were young."
"I don't think Father Time was EVER young," said Mother West Wind. 'But I will tell you a tale of when I was only a Merry Little Breeze. But first, you must run and gather the animals, so that all may share in the tale."
So the Merry Little Breezes ran to the animals, whispering in their ears, "Mother West Wind is telling a story!", they whispered to Peter Rabbit, and Mrs. Peter. "Come to the Clearing in the Woods" they told Reddy Fox, Johnny Chuck and Happy Jack Squirrel. And to every animal and bird of the woods and forest they spread the word that Mother West Wind was telling a story.
In almost no time at all the animals were gathered in the Clearing in the Woods, eagerly awaiting the story from Mother West Wind. "Soon," she told them, "I will begin, but we must wait for everyone to arrive."
"Oh Mother West Wind!" cried the Merry Little Breezes and all the animals. "Everyone is here!" But just then there was a rustling in the bushes at the edge of the clearing. As everyone swung around to see who could be coming, into the clearing came two small, very tired little animals. They were dark grey, with long snouts, and even longer naked looking tails. "Welcome," said Mother West Wind to the newcomers. "Old Dame Nature told me you were coming. Sit, and listen to my story."
"Who ARE they," wondered the rest of the animals. "I've NEVER seen an animal like them!" declared Grandfather Frog. "Where did they COME from," asked the Merry Little Breezes.
And Old Man Coyote looked smug, because of all the animals, he had some idea of who the new little creatures were.
And as the animals all settled down again, making room for the two tired little travelers, Mother West Wind began her story.
'You all remember that when the world was new, all animals were the same. And you will remember how Old Dame Nature gave gifts to each animal, so that everyone could be different from their neighbors.' She said. 'But these two little animals who have joined us tonight have a gift that is very different from any of the rest of you. They have traveled from the Deep South to be here with us. And they are called Possums. This is Cleigh O'Possum and his little sister Dido.' 'Their family is very old, and Cleigh looks much like most animals did, back when the world was new, before the animals received their special gifts. But Dido has the special gift that Old Dame Nature gave to the Possums.' "Show us!" called the Merry Little Breezes. 'Show us!" So Dido showed them all her special gift from Old Dame Nature. For like all female possums, Dido had a pouch, like the big pouch on the front of Farmer Brown's Boy's overalls. "When I get older," she said shyly, "I will carry a treasure in my pouch." Then she hid behind her brother.
"Now," said Mother West Wind, "I will tell you about the only MALE possum ever to have a pouch. He was known as the "harvest possum", and some say he is still alive and going about his work." Cleigh sat up straight and paid attention at these words, for he had never known there was ever a male possum who had possessed a pouch.
"There once was a possum who loved music. He would sit all day and listen to the birds, and to the Merry Little Breezes as they played with the branches of the trees, making tunes. He tried very hard to remember what he heard, but found it very difficult sometimes to remember what he had heard, and where he had heard it. Sometimes, when he heard music that was particularly beautiful, or unique, or different from anything else he had ever heard, he would try to mark the spot where he heard it, so that it would help him remember what he had heard. He tried all sorts of ways of marking the spots he had found music, but the BEST way he ever discovered was to lean his head down to the ground and make a mark with his ears, that looked JUST like this"
"One day, this possum had just run across one of his marks, but though he thought and thought and thought, he couldn't remember what music he had heard that had caused him to make the mark. He was very sad, and though he didn't want to, he soon found himself beginning to cry."
"It
was then that Old Dame Nature came by and found the poor little possum sitting
there, crying. When she asked him what was the matter, he told her; "I KNOW
I heard some beautiful music here, but I can't remember what it was, or how it
sounded."
'Wiping his eyes, he explained to Old Dame Nature that he didn't mark just any
old spot, but only the special ones. "Over there," he pointed,
"was where I first heard a whip-poor-will. I have heard them many time
since, but I only marked that spot. And by that ol' dead tree is where I first
heard Hammerhead the woodpecker going RAT-RATTA-TAT-TAT. But I don't remember
what I heard HERE! Oh, if ONLY I had a pouch like my sisters and mother and
could put the music in my pouch so I wouldn't lose it."
"And as he sat there next to Old Dame Nature, that little possum felt the
STRANGEST thing he had ever felt in his life. And when he looked down at
himself, he found that right there on his front he had a pouch, which looked
JUST like the ones his mother and sisters and aunts had." "Because you
care so much about music" said Old Dame Nature "I have given you a
pouch. Whenever you make your mark with your ears, the music will enter your
pouch. You will not lose the music again, and any one who wants to know the
music you have heard will know, when they see your mark that you have harvested
that music, and they can come to you and look in your pouch and find the music,
even if they can't remember what it was like."
And THAT is the story of the Harvest Possum.
Leo Pola (1999)