Little fox

Little fox really wanted to find a hole. She could still remember the times when baobabs were nowhere to be seen, and there were holes everywhere. Holes upon holes. When the sun was smiling, she and Mama fox would play hide-and-seek in the holes. When the clouds were tearing, she would snuggle in a hole and eavesdropped on the pitter-patter of the raindrops. With the four walls hugging her presence, little fox would dream the best dreams every night. She would dream of prancing dandelions and singing rocks and honey dew dripping from green, green leaves. Occassionally, just occassionally, little fox would venture into the endless prairie on the other side of the asteroid for days and days, knowing very well that whenever she became sick and tired and frustrated, she could always return to the warm embrace of the hole. Then one day, baobabs crept up on the little fox. Oh baobabs - they had neither voices nor footstep. Even the wind could not hear them. They came and filled up every hole there was. Little fox could no longer play hide-and-seek nor listen to the raindrops nor dream the best dreams nor venture into the prairie.
"Bad baobab, bad baobab," little fox would lament, "you are nothing but a scrooge, a hypocrite, a narcissist, a scathing tongue, a bitter, cynical, old jar of pickles." Silence. The baobabs would not utter a word.
"Leave. Why don't you just leave? Leave!" little fox would yell. More silence. The baobabs would not utter a word. Then little fox would kick one of the baobabs at the trunk. Eerie silence. The baobabs would not utter a word.
Everyday, little fox would follow this ritual of lamenting and yelling and kicking. But everyday, the baobabs would reply in silence. They remained in their holes and continued to grow and grow and grow.
Little fox made a very important decision one day.
"Fine," she said, "if you don't go, I'll go. I'll go to other asteroids and find my own hole. My hole will be better and warmer and more lovely than yours." Peculiar silence. The baobabs did not utter a word.
Little fox left the asteroid on the next day. Before she left, she watered the dandelions and found a shelter for the rocks and collected the dew of the green, green leaves. She bid the dandelions, the rocks and the leaves farewell, but she never bid the baobabs farewell. And when she left, she never turned back one last time to give the asteroid an endearing look.
"Never would I come back anyway," she thought, "never."