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How many birds can I see today?
Oh! Hello, I'm Sharon.
Can you see any birds?
Maybe if I look across there.
No, all I can see is sky.
Miles and miles of sky.
Do you know what colour it is?
That's right, it's blue.
I'm looking for a special bird, who's blue, just like the sky,
and like the bird in tonight's bedtime story.
The story is by Julia Hubery and Mary McQuillan,
and is called Wishmoley And The Little Piece Of Sky.
Down in the dark, delicious earth, most moles are happy
dig-dig-digging, but Wishmoley wanted more.
He wished to see the world above.
"Above is too big and bright for a little mole," said his mummy.
"Look at your spadey paws and your lovely, shovely nose.
"Moles are made for digging. Moles are made for under."
Wishmoley tried to be a good, happy digger.
But he couldn't help wondering if above was better than under.
So one day he tunnelled up, up, up and he popped his head above.
He looked at the busy, bustling world.
Oh, it was all so strange and new.
He felt afraid.
And then he looked up at the sky.
It was calm, and blue. It was beautiful.
He wished he could have his own little piece of sky.
Then, from way up high, something fell.
Something smooth, and round and warm, and as blue as the sky.
"Thank you," whispered Wishmoley.
Then he carefully picked up his piece of sky and carried it under.
"Look, Mummy, it's from above!" he said.
"I wished for some of the beautiful blue and down it came."
Wishmoley treasured his piece of sky,
and took it with him everywhere.
One morning, the little piece of sky began to quiver.
A tap-tap-tapping come from inside, louder and louder.
Suddenly, it broke apart!
And a tiny, ugly little thing crept out.
It snuggled next to Wishmoley, cheeping.
"What is it?" he cried.
"It's a baby," said mummy, "and it needs to be loved."
Wishmoley soon had lots of digging to do.
His baby needed worms, and grubs, so he dug and dug to find them,
and then she grew too big for her little nest, so he had to dig
another one, and still baby grew. So he dug another, and another.
Wishmoley was happy digging because Baby loved him, and he loved Baby.
She sang while he worked and she tried to help,
but baby wasn't made for digging.
She had the wrong kind of paws and she couldn't shovel at all.
She cheeped, sadly.
"Baby is crying," Wishmoley told mummy.
Wishmoley wished he could make Baby happy again.
Mummy hugged him tightly.
"You have to be brave to make her happy," she said,
"for Baby is a bird, and she doesn't belong under. She belongs above."
So Wishmoley dug up, up, up above.
Baby flapped the dirt off her wings and hopped and fluttered happily.
She flapped and hopped and fluttered until...
Oh! Baby flew!
As Wishmoley watched her, he felt proud, and sad.
"Why are you sad?" Baby asked.
"Because, some day, you'll fly higher than high, and the blue will fill
"your eyes, and maybe you'll forget to come down," said Wishmoley.
Baby snuggled next to him. "I'll never forget," she said.
One bright morning, a bird just like Baby
swooped through the sky and Baby flew up to say, "Hello!"
Wishmoley watched, and he knew he had to be brave.
When she flew down, he kissed her.
"You're not a baby anymore," he said,
"It's time to fly with the other birds where you belong."
"But you'll be sad," cried Baby.
"Oh, no," said Wishmoley,
"I'll be happy dig-dig-digging and thinking of you up in the blue."
Baby hugged Wishmoley. Then up she flew, up and away.
Most moles are happiest dig-dig-digging.
But sometimes a little mole comes up above,
and listens as a song falls from the sky, and he smiles.
And that story was called Wishmoley And The Little Piece Of Sky.
Maybe if I listen really hard, I'll hear the bird singing,
and then I'll be able to spot him flying in the sky.
Well, while I keep looking, it's time for you to go to bed.
And I'll see you soon for another story.
Now, how about these trees?