I am a mole and I live in a hole with the voles of despondency. Cheer up I say, it may never happen but the voles continue to fret in their usual way, whiskers a-quiverling, noses a-twitching, feet a-tingling. You just don’t understand they squeak, we’re doomed, we’re all doomed and you mole are first in line when the revolution unfolds.
First in line for what I ask them but they give me no answer other than to continue their frantic racing through the burrows along the river bank and out into the estuary. They’re preparing for Armageddon and nothing and no-one, not even a mole in a hole is going to stop them.
This morning one of them stopped her twitching and her quivering, sat up straight and looked me straight in my blind eyes and asked in a voice several octaves higher than was comfortable ‘And where do you think you’re going? Heaven or hell? Come the day of reckoning, what side will your bread be buttered Mr Mole?
I couldn’t answer her rhetorical question but continued to dig away at the tunnel I was creating in front of me. She took my silence as a sign of assent for further interrogation. And do you think digging the same old way is going to get you anywhere at all, mole? Do you really think you are on a path to redemption? Do you not see that your path is the path of the damned? No, I see you see nothing at all and that is the way it should be. God moves in mysterious ways and you, mole, are the most mysterious creature of them all.
Coming from a vole who lives in a hole of despondency struck me as being a bit rich but I was saying nothing. Hear no evil, speak no evil, dig no evil is my motto and as a mole’s mantra goes this is better than most.
What are you waiting for mole? She continued. You cannot wait much longer before the rains come, the river is flooded and we will all be washed away in a flood of hell fire water a-fizzing and a-popping. I’ll take my chance I said to her and continued to paw away at the tunnel that was forming ahead of me. That’s the good thing about being a mole. You make your tunnels, you don’t rely on the voles of despondency to do it for you.