Near a stream bank, on The Common, through the thick ancient clay, a badger dug her burrow on a stormy spring day.
Rain swept in across the oak woods, a cruel wind blew, ruffed her coat as she dug where the holly tree grew. Badger dug a deep burrow for the kits she would bear, and all summer on The Common she nurtured them there.
I to, lived on The Common, and often we lay, in hiding along the stream, watched the badgers at play. Round the bracken and heather they’d wrestle and run, we shared dreams of peace, as badger to, snoozed in the sun.
It was so long ago, and I’m a great, wide ocean from there. But oft in spring, recall mother badger, her wisdom to share.
“Burrow warm by moving water, remember to love, romp and play; It is the finest and only thing time will not wear away.”.