It was an early Sunday morning in April and the first rays of sunlight were hesitantly making their way through the foliage. Birds were twittering, the forest was waking up and a beautiful day was dawning. The magic of Easter hung in the air and on the forest floor, a tiny chicklet was making its way across the undergrowth in a hurry. The fluffy ball of yellow down was zig-zagging between tree trunks and jumping over roots, flapping its miniscule wings as it did so. All the while, it let out high-pitched peeps as it hopped further and deeper into the forest: peep-peep-peep.

Suddenly the chick stopped and quieted down. Something strange was afoot. It stuck its beak up in the air and spun around. Only the wind could be heard sweeping through the vegetation and the birds had stopped chirping. Then some mean-looking figures emerged from behind the trees in front. Three smiling foxes barred the way forward and observed the chicklet with eager eyes.

“Well hello baby chicken” said one of the foxes. “What are you doing here all by yourself?” said the second. “The forest is a dangerous place” said the third. They started pacing around the chick in a circle, curving their slender bodies, tails held high.

“For fox sake!” cried the chicklet, “Do you think I’m afraid of you? I’m no chi..” and here it paused for a moment. “I’m no coward!” it continued, flapping its little wings in agitation. “You don’t want to mess with me, and especially not on Easter. P-peep off, or I’ll hurt you!”

At this the foxes began to laugh. “That’s one crazy chick!” said one of them while licking its mouth. “Yes it sounds funny” said the second. “Let’s see what it tastes like” said the third. The foxes got ready to pounce and the chicklet assumed a kung-fu fighting stance with which to meet their onslaught. The foxes leapt as one and clashed with the chicklet, rolling in a tangled mess on the ground. But for all their speed, the foxes were unable to lock their jaws around the little chick. They only bit thin air. And their claws failed to scratch it; it blocked their every punch. The chick was uncannily quick and in one moment it was fighting all three of them using only one of its tiny wings, then with the other, while rolling its eyes and yawning mockingly. Then, it calmly clasped both wings behind its back and began dealing devastating blows only with its little yellow beak.

The foxes recoiled, licking their wounds and looking at each other in stupefied disbelief. The chicklet let out a threatening, confident laugh. “Playtime’s over” said the little fluffy creature. It spread its wings out wide and looked up at the sky, addressing it in an ominous tone: “By the magic of Easter, begone!”

A weak, humming sound could be heard from above, followed by the vague hints of an angelic melody. Then a cone of light descended from the heavens and one of the foxes violently exploded with a wet puff. Where it had stood, it now looked like someone had dropped a balloon full of red paint. The other two foxes exchanged panicked looks before the second one met the same fate. The remaining fox swallowed hard and shook with fear before another cone of light descended and he too dissolved in a cloud of red matter. There were bits and pieces of fox everywhere. The ground was covered with it and tiny bits of fur caught on branches hung swaying in the wind.

“Cluck you, heathens” squeaked the chicklet, which was covered in gore from beak to claw. It spat on the ground, then produced a tiny cigarette from somewhere. “JC, would you be so kind?” it said, looking up at the sky again. Once more the humming emerged, and the wind carried with it a distant melody. A cone of light, only much smaller than the others, descended with a rustling through the canopy and lit the chick’s cigarette. In the sky above one could see the bright twinkling of a single star.

May the light of Christ be with you too. I wish you a magical Easter.
M