down in the meadow

My husband bought a brand new grass-cutting thing today and set about clearing the bottom of the garden.  I call it the meadow, or the wildlife garden.  He calls it the jungle.  You could stand a small child in there and not see it.   Our son tried to sort it with an old-fashioned push-push mower, but the blades broke and the gnome fell off his snail laughing.

I came home this afternoon and found it wonderfully, beautifully, clear.  I can walk down the meadow without being caught in a rugby tackle by stray brambles.

I think we have moles.  (We could have had half of Mistmantle in there and not known about it until now.)  What I really want is a hedgehog.
I could advertise for one.  Hedgehog wanted - free board and lodgings, and all the slugs you can eat.
 Apply at the House of Stories.  

Goodnight!