The Mole and His Mother

The story

Under the meadow ran a winding little tunnel, the earth softly damp and thin roots hanging from the ceiling like threads. A young mole lived there with his mother. He had been blind from birth, yet his nose was remarkably keen, and his small paws could feel out every turn of the path with care. As she led him through the tunnels, his mother often reminded him gently, "Every creature has its own gift, and its own thing to be careful about. Use what you feel, and the dark will never trouble you."

One day the young mole lifted his head and puffed out his little chest. "Mother," he said loudly, "I can see, truly I can!" He said it quickly and firmly, as though speaking with enough confidence could push the darkness aside on its own. His mother stopped and looked at him quietly. She did not scold him at once.

She understood that he only wished to feel grown up, and that was no bad thing in itself. But she also worried that if he mistook his wish for a real ability, he might one day come to harm on the ground above. So she thought of a small, gentle way to let him discover the truth for himself.

She slipped into the storeroom nearby and brought back a few grains of frankincense cupped in her paw, setting them down on a smooth patch of earth where a thin beam of light reached through a gap in the roots. The grains carried a clear, sweet fragrance, quite unlike any ordinary pebble. "Tell me, my son," she asked softly, "since you can see — what is this?"

Eager to prove himself right, the young mole did not pause to sniff, nor did he reach out to feel the grains with his paws. "Why, it's a pebble," he said at once, giving his tail a proud little flick.

His mother sighed softly, though her words were clear. "My child, it is not your eyes that worry me. What worries me is that you have forgotten to use the very nose that serves you so well." The young mole lowered his head, and only then did he slowly stretch out his nose and catch the faint sweet scent — nothing at all like stone.

From that evening on, the young mole was no longer quick to boast. Whenever he met something uncertain, he paused first to sniff and to feel before he spoke. That night, a thin sliver of moonlight reached in through the tunnel's mouth, and his mother curled close beside him. "Admitting what you don't know doesn't make you smaller," she said gently. "It only helps you use what you truly have, all the better." The young mole leaned against her, breathing in the scent of grass drifting from outside, and fell peacefully asleep.