you think he’ll get?” enquired the first tree monkey.
“Before he begins to fall back to earth, you mean?” said the second. “Not far, I shouldn’t think.”
“More of a soarer, not a flyer.” The first tree monkey said.
“Soarer? I thought he said, saw-er. Like a carpenter, you know, a woodchopper but with a saw. Thought it was unusual…a bald eagle being a carpenter. With any luck,” the second try monkey continued, “he’ll get tired, stop flapping and, erm, fall back to earth, through the trees and land on the crocodile and knock him to the ground.”
The first tree monkey nodded slowly. “Perhaps he meant, Sawyer? As in Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn? Or even, soya? Does he have a lactose problem?”
The second tree monkey shrugged, “No matter, soon there won’t be much distance twain Bob and the ground.”
The two tree monkeys watched as Bob’s furious flapping lessened and lessened until for a moment he hung motionless in the air then, his wings too tired to flap any longer or even soar, he began to fall back to earth.
“Curl into a ball,” shouted the second tree monkey.
“Good call,” said the first, giving a little clap.
Bob curled tightly into a ball and crashed down through the trees breaking branches, scattering leaves and…bounced off the crocodile’s back and landed in a heap on the ground, surprisingly unhurt, although he was a little dazed. The crocodile, however, a menacing, I’ll-get-you-for-this-look, now on his face, remained in the tree, unmoved.
The tree monkeys shrugged. Plan B then, they said and wondered, just exactly what was Plan B…or even if perhaps, they should just go to Plan C…
Down on the ground, Bob the bald eagle got to his feet and staggered into Opa, his new mother.
“Well Bob,” she said, “I think I need to keep you a bit closer and a bit further away from those pesky tree monkeys. Come on, I hear some lions have just opened a tea shop on the other side of the forest, we’ll go and have some afternoon tea.”
With that Opa and a still dazed Bob, headed off into the forest.
Meanwhile somewhere in the deepest, darkest part of the forest, the stork, having set out to follow the pipeline, was complaining;
“I can't see to fill out my form. But I found the end...its not a pipeline or a metaphor, it’s”...
“It's my leg...get off!”
The stork jumped back in surprise. “If you are not a pipeline, what are you?” He demanded.
“I'm a sloth,” said the voice. “And you have just woken me up.”
The stork stepped forward and asked, “What are you doing here in one of the deepest, darkest parts of the forest, pretending to be a pipeline?”
“I fell out of a tree and I can't climb back up because my arms are tired. And,” the sloth continued, “I'm not pretending to be a pipeline. I'm lying on a pipeline...”
“Interesting,” said the stork. “Do you know what this pipeline really is?” The sloth yawned and was about to say something, perhaps something important, but his tongue had become tired and he fell asleep.
“Hmm…” said the stork, a little frustrated as the sloth began to snore. Not sure what to do next, he took a pencil from behind his ear and jabbed the snoring sloth with it.
The sloth groaned and opened an eye. He looked at the stork. “Oh,” he said, yawning, you’re still here.”
The stork nodded and said, “You were going to tell me about the pipeline.”
“Was I? Mmm…perhaps I was…” the sloth yawned again and then said, “Did you know, if you put your ear against the pipeline, you can hear the leaves.”
The stork bent down and pressed his ear against the pipeline. He listened for a moment then stood up, looked at the sloth then bent down again. “I can hear something,” he said.
“Yes,” said the sloth. “You can hear the leaves rustling. Which is odd, because of the many leaves I know, not one of them is called Russell. ”
The stork stood up and tilted his head one way then the other, trying to hear if the leaves in the trees were making any noise, but all was quiet. “Are you sure it’s not the sea you can hear?” he asked the sloth.
The sloth yawned. “I hope not, I can’t swim and,” he yawned yet again, “swimming would only make my arms even more tired.” He paused and waited but didn’t fall asleep, so continued, “How else do you think the leaves talk to each other in private?” Then he did fall asleep again.
The stork scratched his head, puzzled and confused and jabbed the sloth once more with his pencil. “I don’t understand,” he said.
The sloth raised an eyebrow, yawned and without opening either eye, said in a sleepy voice, “it could be a fossilised snake from prehistoric times. I hear things were bigger back then…”
The stork was starting to get a little annoyed. “Look,” he said, “why would someone build a pipeline in a forest and a lost one at that? And, and,” he continued, in a very frustrated manner, “if it is a fossilised snake…”
The sloth opened both eyes and interrupted the stork. “I’m not lost, I’m here. You’re not lost because you are here with me and, as we both know where we are and we are in the forest, the forest cannot really be lost either.” The sloth paused and yawned then nodded at a nearby tree. “He, however, is lost.” The sloth then fell asleep and slowly slipped off whatever he had been laying on, which perhaps was either a pipeline full of leaves, not called Russell, rustling to each other or a fossilised giant snake or perhaps, the sloth had just been lying?
“Who?” said the stork. “What tree?”
“You! You there, you crane! Come here. Help me out”.... Reginald, Prince of Baboons suddenly shouted from behind a tree.
Startled, the stork dropped his clipboard. “I'm a stork not a crane – can't you tell the difference?” he shouted back into the gloom.
“Of course I can tell the difference!” Said Reginald, Prince of Baboons, peering out from behind the tree, “ but I much prefer butter. Have you got any? Perhaps some scones too to go with it? Spoon or two of jam?”
The stork tutted, picked up his clipboard and passed Reginald a torch. “Take this,” he said, “it’s a torch, use it to follow the pipeline, it will lead you out of here.”
“Can’t I go with you?” asked Reginald. “I mean, it is a bit, you know, dark here…and there are strange things, ghostly things…”
“Ghosts? What do you mean ghosts?”
“There, there it is,” said Reginald pointing at a dark blue glow coming toward them. “A blue ghost.”
“Oh that,” said the stork, “That’s Opa the leopard with her new spots and…”
Reginald cut the stork off, “What do you mean new spots? A leopard can’t change its spots.”
Opa the leopard slowly sauntered along beside the pipeline with Bob the bald eagle following on behind.
Not long after discovering her new pygmy butterfly ‘spots’ could sparkle and shimmer, Opa also discovered they glowed in the dark too; an almost spooky shade of blue. Spooky-looking enough for her to enjoy prowling around the darker parts of the Lost Forest, scaring any unsuspecting and superstitious creature.
Reginald watched Opa and Bob getting closer and closer and the closer they got, the more worried he became. Deciding he didn’t want to wait and see if it really was a blue ghost or just a spot-changing leopard, he looked for somewhere to hide and dove under the body of the snoring sloth. At least he managed to squeeze his head under the sloth, which was enough to ensure he couldn’t see or hear anything and, in Reginald’s mind, if he couldn’t see or hear anything, it wasn’t there…
The stork looked down at Reginald and shook his head then he looked at his clipboard and flicked through to his To – Do List and began ticking things off.
Spots for Opa - done
New parent for Bob - done
Bad news for Porcupine family - done
Tea - ?
Underneath Tea - ? he wrote, Pipeline???! Then, sensing that it would probably be some
time before the sloth awoke or Reginald came out from underneath it, he stretched and waited for Opa and Bob.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Opa a little disappointed, as she and Bob reached the stork.
“I see you are quite used to your new spots.”
Opa smiled and nodded down at Reginald. “Does he need any help?”
The stork shrugged; “He seems to be fine. He’s hiding because he thought you and Bob were a pair of ghosts…”
“No,” said Opa, “I meant the sloth.”
The stork smiled, yes, the sloth was fine too. “I’ll send someone to get Reginald later. But now, I’m off to have a bit of tea. I hear some lions have opened a corner teashop. Although where they managed to find a corner in this forest, I don’t know.”
“That’s where we are going, too,” said Opa. “I think they’ve called it, Lions Tea Room.”
“Do you know if they have cake?” asked the stork, “I do like a piece of cake.”
With that, Opa, Bob and the stork left Reginald, Prince of Baboons hiding under the snoring sloth and made their way out of the deepest, darkest part of the forest in search of the Lost Forest’s only corner and the Lions Tea Room.
The leaves rustled and the trees swayed
and eventually the sun yawned and pushed the moon out of bed.
Still sleepy, the moon,
not for the first or the last time,
slipped behind a cloud and went back to sleep.
The stars sparkled and twinkled
and a constellation somewhere in the northern sky called Camelopardalis
wondered why, if half of its name came from leopard,
why did it have a long