At Wildlife Matters, we have a passion for storytelling. We share nature-based folklore, ranging from classic tales to traditional stories, and occasionally we present original stories performed live in our special location deep in the heart of the dark woods.
We share these stories on the Equinoxes and Solstices each year. These events are special, mystical and captivating, and we wanted to share some of the woodland magic with you today with two stories told to a live audience for this year’s spring equinox. We begin with The Owl Is a Creature of the Night before we share our main story, Why Does the Mole Live Underground? A Woodland Folklore Tale. So get yourself a warm drink, gather around the campfire, and get ready for an evening of sharing stories to celebrate the spring equinox.
The Owl Is A Creature Of The Night
Deep in the old woods, where legends grow among tangled roots and mossy stones, every wild animal has a story older than the oldest tree.
Here, myth and nature mix, the wind shares secrets, and the time between night and morning feels full of promise.
Our story starts with a tawny owl, a quiet watcher in the night. His round head and body were surrounded by dark feathers, holding the secrets of the night close.
His reddish-brown feathers shone in the moonlight. Each one seemed woven by the forest itself, making him both a quiet hunter and a keeper of secrets. Even though he belonged to the night, the owl was full of curiosity.
The wind told him about the wonders of daytime: flowers shining in the sun, animals singing together, and a world that looked completely different. He wanted to see it for himself and discover its secrets.
Every night, he flew under the silver moon, dreaming of sunlight at the back of his mind.
One morning, while the other owls returned to their nests, the curious owl sat on the tallest oak tree. He waited eagerly for the sun to rise and light up the world below. He turned his head and watched squirrels come out of their nests, chasing and jumping with energy. Even though it was still night, he felt part of their busy world.
The woods were full of birdsong and bright colours. Robins with red chests, blue tits, great tits, blackbirds, and thrushes all moved through the trees, each adding to the morning music. Every animal helped welcome the new day.
The owl watched in quiet wonder all day, seeing animals he had only known by their smells and sounds at night.
He was amazed by deer walking through sunbeams and beetles shining like green gems in the grass. As the sun moved across the sky, his curiosity grew even more.
As evening came, crows and jackdaws flew and called loudly above the trees, saying goodbye to the sun. Finally, the sun set and darkness covered the woods.
The owl felt the border between day and night. The owl felt the change from day to night, but now he kept the memory of sunlight and birdsong inside him.
This secret wish made him different from the other owls. As the sky grew darker, he felt excitement return.
The night began to awaken, his fellow owls’ wings unfurling, voices mingling in the timeless duet of twit and twoo. Yet only he had glimpsed the day’s hidden face, and a gentle pride, tinged with loneliness, settled in his heart. He had crossed a boundary few dared to dream of.
He watched badgers come out of their homes, playing and making shadows in the moonlight. He wondered if they knew about the beauty of the day, or if they were also tied to the secrets of the night.
As night came, the male fox went toward the village to find food for his family, while the female fox headed to the nearby farm.
The trees darkened, and the owl watched as the trees grew darker; the owl saw bats come out from their hiding places, using sound to find moths and insects.
He also heard leaves rustle and snorting below, knowing the hedgehog had started his nightly walk.
Weariness was a quiet echo of the day’s memories and the invisible lines of dividing worlds. Still, he knew his story would not end with one sunrise.
Within him, a bridge now stretched between darkness and light, and every night, his dreams soared across it.
In the quiet night, the owl thought about the beauty of the day: the loud birds, the bright colours, the wide blue sky, and sunlight shining on every leaf and feather.
These memories became his secret sunrise. These memories were like a secret sunrise, shining softly in his amber eyes. He knew the magic of morning was not his to keep.
Each world had its own secrets, but he was changed, showing that there are wonders beyond every shadow.
Ancient stars, hunger whispering at his side, the owl understood: he belonged to the night, but his heart would always carry the golden thread of day.
And so, in the heart of the woodland, his story became legend a tale of longing, discovery, and the fragile bridge that binds the worlds of darkness and light.
And that is the end of our first story, which we hope you enjoyed
Our main story this evening is called Why Does the Mole Live Underground? A Woodland Folklore Tale, which we will share next:
One cool morning in the woods, Mole climbed up a tall tree, his nose twitching with excitement. He was searching for a bee’s nest, hoping to taste golden honey, a treat that moles like him rarely get to enjoy.
If you’ve ever seen a mole, you know they aren’t built for climbing, especially not tall trees!
But Mole wanted honey so much that he forgot his fear.
Each morning, he dreamed of honey that was as sweet and golden as the real thing. Mole gripped the bark with his long claws, while his back legs kicked and slipped, making his climb look clumsy and funny. Birds sitting above watched and chirped, amused by Mole’s effort.
Having visited the bees’ nest before, Mole knew that the adult bees would attack him as soon as he began to eat the honey. He had to escape quickly because those bee stings hurt!
As he got closer to the nest, the buzzing of the bees made Mole look up. His stomach rumbled with hope as he thought about the honey waiting for him. As he got close to the nest, Mole’s right claw slipped, and he was left hanging from the branch by just his left foot.
Mole pressed his face against the rough bark and tried not to look down. The bark left a mark on his cheek as he pushed against it. After a moment, he got his grip back with his right paw.
He stopped to catch his breath and calm his heart. When he felt steady again, he kept climbing, his hungry stomach pushing him on.
As Mole crept nearer, the air grew heavy with the sweet scent of honey.
He knew the bees would soon notice him; their stings were famous throughout the woodland, and he had felt their wrath before.
Inside the hive, the queen received alarming news of his approach.
She was concerned, knowing that every few weeks Mole would invade, stealing her honey and damaging the hive in the process.
It took the drone bees considerable time to repair the damage they had caused. Determined to protect her home, the queen summoned the fighter bees to prepare for battle.
“I understand you wish to rid yourself of the Mole, Your Majesty, and I have an idea,” said a young drone bee, boldly interrupting the queen.
The queen cast a disapproving glance at him, but the drone smiled and requested permission to speak. “Please, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing respectfully and waving his antennae.
Though slightly annoyed, the queen wanted to deal with the troublesome mole, so she beckoned the drone closer and urged him to share his thoughts.
Up in the moving branches, Mole sniffed the bees’ new nest, remembering the trouble from last time.
Suddenly, a young bee came out of a hidden door in the hive, its stripes shining gold and black.
Mole had never seen a bee up close before. He admired its shiny stripes and golden fuzz, which reminded him of his own soft fur. To his surprise, the bee crawled toward him instead of flying away or trying to sting.
“You’re up high, my friend,” the bee remarked, pointing its antennae towards the ground. “See how small everything looks from up here?”
Mole turned his head and looked down.
The ground was covered with flowers and leaves, bright with colour. His stomach flipped, and he held onto the bark even tighter, feeling smaller than ever.
Mole’s mouth felt dry, his muscles tightened, and he pressed himself flat against the bark, wishing he could disappear.
The bee noticed the sweat beading on Mole’s face, making his snout damp and his claws slippery. Mole glanced at the bee, but it was too late; fear had already taken hold.
“Now, my friend,” said the bee, “you’ve seen how high you are, and you don’t even have wings. That’s very brave of you.” The bee fluttered its wings in front of the now terrified mole.
Mole shook his head slightly and whined, “But I must eat, or I will starve.” The bee crawled closer and whispered, “I know where food is abundant for someone like you. It’s down there.”
The bee gestured towards the ground, but Mole was too scared to look down again.
While they spoke, a large swarm of bees had crawled out of the entrance and lined up along the trunk, five hundred wide and several hundred deep.
Mole sighed when he saw he would have to get past a wall of bees to reach his food. Even worse, he couldn’t eat any bees on the way because the fighter bees tasted bad and made his tongue burn.
He turned to the bee beside him and said, “Tell me more.”
“If we climb down, I can show you,” replied the bee, slowly moving towards Mole’s face, encouraging him to climb down awkwardly and backwards.
As Mole descended the tree, the bee matched his pace until he dropped off a few feet from the ground and landed with a dull thud.
Dazed from the bump, Mole sprawled on his back as the bee fluttered down and perched gently on his tummy.
“When you’re ready, follow me,” said the bee, swiftly flying over to one of the deep crevices where the giant tree roots entered the earth.
Looking down into the deep hole, the bee waved his wing to Mole and urged, “Come over here.”
When Mole arrived, he peered into the darkness. At first, he couldn’t see anything, but as his eyes adjusted, he noticed some long pink things wriggling far below him.
“That’s a nest of worms,” said the bee, buzzing with excitement. “They are delicious, and the best part is you don’t have to climb or get stung to reach them!”
The bee did a little wriggly dance. Mole pressed his nose to the ground, smelling the sweet scent of worms, just as the bee had promised. “How do I get them down there?” he asked.
The bee smiled and said, “You dig, of course!” He showed Mole how to dig. Mole tried, but only scratched the surface. “It’s no use!” he complained, his stomach rumbling even louder.
Glancing longingly at the beehive high above, he shook his head and resumed scraping at the soil. After a few frantic minutes, the bee climbed onto a nearby root.
“As good neighbours, we may be able to help,” said the bee. Mole looked up, intrigued. “How?”
“You know your front feet are best for digging, but your back ones aren’t. Perhaps we can assist you with that.” Mole’s curiosity was piqued. “How?”
The bee continued, “You’ve been stung before, and you know the pain goes away after a while.”
“Yes,” Mole replied, recalling the unpleasantness of bee stings.
There’s magic in our stingers.
With a single touch, we can grant you the power to dig deeper and faster than any mole before you.
The earth will open like a secret, and you’ll feast on worms without ever needing to climb again!”
“Erm, okay, but how does that work?” asked Mole, still uncertain.
“That, my friend, is our magic, and I cannot tell you. Otherwise, it might not work,” replied the bee.
Suddenly, Mole’s stomach growled loudly, interrupting the conversation.
Okay, okay, let’s do it,” said Mole, holding out his front paws.
“Okay then, you must close your eyes,” instructed the bee.
“I won’t do it,” protested Mole.
“You have to for the magic to work,” said the bee. Reluctantly, Mole placed his front paws flat on the rock before quickly pulling them away again.
Mole hesitated, thinking, should I trust the bee? The bee, sensing his doubt, urged, “It’s to get your breakfast and make the magic work.” “Okay,” Mole agreed, placing his paws back on the rock and closing his eyes.
“Right. You will hear some buzzing, but don’t worry; it’s just our magic at work. Now move your paws a bit closer together.” Slowly, Mole readjusted his position and braced himself.
Suddenly, there was a loud BANG!
A strong gust of wind hit Mole straight in the face, followed by an excruciating pain in his front paws.
Mole let out a terrifying scream. When he opened his eyes, he saw a large, flat stone where his paws had been.
Dizziness washed over him as the pain surged through his body.
“Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” shouted Mole, looking around to find the bee had vanished.
“Ooh, when I get my paws out from under this rock, I’ll tell that bee precisely what I think of him for tricking me!” he exclaimed, struggling to free himself.
But his paws were stuck. He wriggled and jiggled, but the rock was too big and heavy to move.
Mole braced his back legs against the rock and, with a mighty push, yanked his front paws free.
They ached and throbbed, now flat as pancakes, with nails stretched into long, digging claws. With a sigh, Mole gazed up at the towering tree and the distant bees’ nest.
“Hey, bee!” he called out. “I want a word with you!”
But as he stood at the bottom of the tree, Mole’s nose twitched at the smell of tasty worms. “I’ll deal with that bee later,” he thought.
Mole waddled to the spot under the big tree, where the bee had told him about a secret feast.
As he dug, the earth fell away under his new claws. Dirt scattered, roots moved aside, and soon Mole was tunnelling with a happiness he had never felt before.
Before long, Mole found a worm and, without hesitation, hungrily gobbled it up. However, it was all crunchy and left grit on his tongue. “Yuck!” he exclaimed, spitting the worm out.
He glanced up towards the bees’ nest, longing for the taste of honey again, but then looked down at his front paws and sighed, knowing he could never climb a tree.
His tummy rumbled, and the thought of worms made his mouth water once more.
Mole dug deeper, uncovering a treasure trove of worms. At last, he settled into the cool, earthy hollow he had made, heart brimming and belly even more so.
It was the finest feast he’d ever tasted, all thanks to a sprinkle of woodland magic.
Do you know what Mole did next? He began digging once more, pushing past the worm nest and deep into the soil, following the twisting tree root beneath. Mole truly enjoyed digging and was quite skilled at it, so he continued his work.
Before dawn, he had created a network of tunnels, each with a large nest of worms along the route, ensuring he would never have a growly, grumbly tummy again.
He even fashioned little earthen side rooms along every tunnel in the network, providing enough space for him to spend a comfortable day sleeping.
And that is how Mole came to live underground, always digging, always discovering, and always thankful for the unlikely friendship that changed his world.
In the heart of the woodland, in every tunnel and in every story which whispers through the tree roots, a bit of magic lives on forever.
Thank you for joining us for another Storytelling special. Be sure to watch out for our Summer Solstice live storytelling event
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