“May I Come In?”
Honey For The Heart - 24
Bumble yanked open the little door of Piggy’s mossy writing hole with a thud.
”Look what I found!” he said, waving weathered birch-leaflets in the air. “You left your story notes in my den. I brought them to finish that tale of the little fairy in Faraway-Forest!”
Piggy looked up from his tiny desk, quill frozen mid-sentence. “…You read it?”
“Well,” Bumble shrugged, “I hadn’t planned to, but once I started, I got hooked. I even thought of a twist for the ending!”
Piggy stood up slowly and took the leaflets, holding them like something inside had just been bruised.
“Bumble… I wasn’t ready to share that.”
Bumble’s ears twitched. “But I only wanted to help. You always say stories are meant to be shared.”
“Only when they’re offered.” Piggy’s voice was calm, but something had shifted in it.
“It’s not just about peeking into my leaflets. You walked into my thoughts. Into my little quiet space.”
Bumble sank heavily onto the damp floor.
“I didn’t think of it like that. I just saw something special and wanted to be a part of it.”
“I know,” Piggy said, softer now, “but not everything we admire is ours to join. Just like you wouldn’t dig through someone’s burrow or dip your paw into someone else’s honey stash… you shouldn’t wander into someone’s time, or thoughts, or stories unless you are invited to.”
Piggy placed the birch-leaflets by his side and spoke very softly…
“Bumble, forest fruits ripen in their own time and fall when they’re ready. If plucked too soon, they bruise the branch and that’s stealing too.”
He sat beside Bumble, not to scold, just to be near.
“There are little ways of taking that don’t look like stealing at all. But they still leave others with less of what was theirs. Like when you ask me to meet you by the brook, but come much later… that’s like borrowing my time without asking.”
“Or when your heart feels heavy and you spill it all out, hoping I’ll hold it for you… before you check if I have space to hold my own. That’s like walking into my heart without first knocking.”
Bumble’s eyes widened.
Piggy continued, “and last full-moon night, when you wore Owie’s thinking beads and repeated his words… just so everyone would think you were the wise one?”
Bumble winced.
“Even that my dear friend, was a kind of taking. Owning Owie’s words without walking the path first.”
Bumble looked down at the leaflets.
“I always thought stealing meant plucking elderberries without asking the bush first. Or like when Bunny took my honey-pickle jars without ever asking me. But I see now…”
The trees bent low, the ivy on the wall leaned closer, and even the wind paused to listen as Piggy spoke —
“Even in a forest full of sharing, it matters that you wait to be invited. That’s how trust takes root.”
Bumble looked at the soft light filtering through the window and murmured gently,
“Next time… I’ll first knock.”
Piggy smiled.
“And when you do, you’ll find more than just stories!
You’ll find hearts waiting to hug you.”
