The Color Magic in the Forest
July 22, 2025
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The morning sun sprinkled like broken gold on the oak leaves, with dewdrops glistening on the tips of the grass blades. Chestnut, the little hedgehog, curled up into a round, spiky ball and napped on a pile of withered yellow fallen leaves. The spines on his back were dotted with a few reddish-brown dead leaves, and even the fuzz on his snout had a ochre hue like soil — this was the first lesson his mother had taught him: never move when the sound of a fox’s footsteps came from behind the bushes.
“Rustle —” The dry fallen leaves crunched underfoot. Chestnut held his breath, feeling his heart thumping inside the spiky ball. A red fox’s tail, like a burning torch, flickered before his eyes, its fluffy tail sweeping over the ferns beside him. The fox’s amber eyes scanned the pile of fallen leaves but never spotted the little fellow who blended perfectly into the surroundings. It wasn’t until that flash of red disappeared into the hazel thicket that Chestnut dared to slowly stretch out his curled claws.
In the stream nearby, Croak, the little rain frog, was sunbathing on a green water lily leaf. His back was a bright emerald green, while his belly glowed with a pearly white. This “countershading” coloration made it hard for herons in the sky to distinguish his outline. A kingfisher, like a blue arrow, darted across the water. Croak immediately tensed his limbs and flattened his body. When the kingfisher perched on a stream stone and tilted its head to observe, it only saw a green leaf glistening in the sun.
At noon, the sun filtered through the treetops, casting dappled light and shadow in the forest. Gray, the wood mouse, scurried across the tree trunk holding a pinecone, his taupe fur flickering in and out of the cracks in the bark. Suddenly, the shadow of a sparrowhawk loomed overhead. Gray darted into a pile of dry branches. He puffed up his tail, creating a perfect camouflage with the surrounding dead twigs, and even pressed his ear tips tightly against his back — those grayish-white ear hairs, in the light and shadow, looked just like a broken twig.
As dusk fell, Chestnut met Croak by the dandelion patch. The little frog was puffing himself up into a green ball, while his belly quietly turned dark brown. “Look!” Croak hopped onto a moss-covered rock, and his back gradually took on a bluish-green color similar to the moss. “When the moon comes out, I can even turn silvery gray.”
The night wind stirred the fallen leaves, and the hooting of an owl echoed in the distance. Chestnut shook off the dead leaves from his back and suddenly understood what his mother meant when she said, “Colors are the magic cloaks the forest gives us.” Those hues that blend with plants, soil, light, and shadow are not for beauty, but rather the survival verses that life writes to the world.
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