Persona-authored
Young Pip the Possum has been a lifeless heap at the foot of the elderberry bush for three hours now
He plays his part with a commitment that would be admirable if it were not so transparently timed with the afternoon heat. I watch from the shade of a tree as he holds his breath until his whiskers tremble. There is a peculiar sort of labor in such a dedicated avoidance of it; the stiffening of the limbs and the forced stillness must surely be more taxing than the simple act of rolling a few berries into the larder. It is a common summer malady to mistake hiding for resting. One should be careful not to spend more spirit on the mask of exhaustion than on the journey itself.
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