Spring this year promised to be late and rainy. Heavy grey clouds slowly drifted over the clearing that stretched out in the middle of the old forest.
The edge of the clearing had long been known to the forest's inhabitants, as it was the noisiest spot — the forest tip. What wasn't there: old rusty tins, torn car tyres, broken glass, boxes of building rubbish, fragments of once exquisite and expensive furniture, and other products of daily life. The locals had become so accustomed to this tip that they even met near it, discussing forest news.
So on this overcast morning, at the edge of the tip, old Grandpa Echidna met young Possum. Echidna was dragging a leg from an expensive chair off the tip, thinking as he went about how he'd prop up his burrow's sagging roof with his find. Possum, meanwhile, cheerfully hopping along the branches, descended to the ground to add her rubbish to the tip: two gumnuts.
G'day, Grandpa Echidna.
Possum greeted him.
Good morning, Possum.
Echidna replied.
Littering again, are you?
Yeah, the hollow's chockers with old gumnuts after winter. Mum asked me to chuck them on the rubbish.
Possum answered.
Soon the forest will be buried in rubbish. The tip's getting bigger and bigger.
Old Echidna grumbled.
But Mum reckons the tip won't be here much longer.
And how's that gonna happen?
Echidna was surprised.
A Crow came by and said there'll be elections for the Forest Parliament soon. And today messengers will arrive — candidates who'll tell us how to make our forest better.
Possum cheerfully announced, tossing the gumnuts onto a pile of dried twigs, sticks, and rotten bark.
Crows, those chatterboxes who are always flying around the forest cawing for nothing. I remember at the last election they cawed so much that Auntie Dingo's ears grew longer than her mate Wallaby's.
Echidna chuckled.
No, these are new crows, and one of them even gave Mum a green apple. But even though it was big and beautiful, it was sour.
Possum interrupted Echidna.
What, just gave her an apple for nothing?
Echidna was surprised.
And Mum also said they're coming to the clearing at lunchtime today to tell us about themselves. Mum's already hopped off through the trees to warn the animals. Everyone's gathering — it'll be bonzer!
Possum was delighted.
Yeah, bonzer. Reckon I won't go home — why crawl back and forth — I'll stay here. Worth having a squiz at these candidates, and maybe this year they'll actually clear the tip.
Wise Echidna said.
Echidna hid the chair leg under last year's leaves and lay down on top. During his chat with Possum, Echidna hadn't noticed the forest dwellers beginning to gather in the clearing.
First to bound onto the clearing were young joeys, who'd left Dad Wallaby and Mum Wallaby far behind. The parents could barely keep up with the kids, pushing a pram with the little ones born in winter.
Mum, Dad, come here! Let's sit here, on this side of the rubbish heap. There are so many gumnuts here!
The joeys called out.
At that moment, from the other side of the clearing, a family of platypuses was approaching. At the front strode the head of the family — Platypus. Behind him glided an impressively sized Mrs Platypus, and then a dozen platypus youngsters.
After a while, russet tails flashed among the trees. Stepping softly on the thawing ground, Mum Dingo arrived at the clearing with three dingo pups.
The forest inhabitants gathered, noisily discussing the upcoming event and the news accumulated over winter. At that moment, the first messenger appeared in the sky. A grey nimble crow swooped sharply from the heavens, perched on a branch, and cawed loudly:
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome our guests!
High in the sky above the forest edge, a flock of crows appeared. Over the clearing, the crows dropped sharply, made a lap of honour above the forest dwellers, delighting the little ones, and landed right on the tip.
We greet you, forest dwellers! We've heard about your problem, about this old stinking tip. We know how to fix it! Vote for us, and there won't be a trace of the tip left!
Cawed a plump crow with a green tie around its neck.
Yeah right, won't be a trace left. We've heard something like that before, more than once.
Echidna grumbled.
Yes, we want this! The tip's a pain. The sooner the better. We don't even have anywhere to play.
The little joeys cried out to approving calls from Dad Wallaby and Mum Wallaby.
Yes, yes, there won't be a trace of the tip left. We think of nothing but how to make life in the forest happy. Just vote for us, and everything in life will change.
The crow in the red tie added.
The tip stinks something awful, it's so unaesthetic.
Dingo joined the conversation.
There are many other places in the forest where you, esteemed crows, could help the forest dwellers.
The russet one continued, licking her lips and slyly eyeing the parliamentary candidates.
I guarantee you, this is the last time you'll see this tip. I promise you that today my team and I will scatter it to splinters. I'll build playgrounds for your children, I'll plant flowers everywhere! I... I... I...
A black crow in glasses shouted loudest of all and fussed about at the very top of the tip.
Blimey, he's going on, even I can hear him. Should ask him to clean out the dam while he's at it.
Platypus turned to Mrs Platypus.
Yeah, and they'll build a slide for the young ones too — as if! They promise and promise.
Mrs Platypus agreed.
While Platypus and Mrs Platypus were dreaming, the forest dwellers listened with open mouths in rapture to the crow chorus. And the more promises rang out over the clearing, the more worked up the crows became. The crows already thought the forest dwellers understood who could solve all the forest's problems.
And now, we want to treat the children and you, our beloved voters!
The black crow shouted. And his whole flock began handing out apples. While the forest dwellers rushed to grab the free gifts, the Crow in glasses turned to his colleague in the red tie and with a cunning squint of brazen eyes clicked his beak: "Job done. These ones are ours!"
Suddenly the noise and din in the clearing was drowned out by the crack of branches. An enormous brown wombat emerged from the forest.
What's going on here?
The stocky fellow growled disapprovingly.
The locals instantly fell silent, and the brazen talkative crows were taken aback.
Spinning your election yarn again, are you?
The wombat grabbed a hefty bough the size of a small tree, and the crow flock instantly and with disgruntled noise took flight above the clearing.
If you'd wanted to, you'd have cleaned it up ages ago, instead of adding rubbish with your apple cores.
Just then Mum Possum arrived, who saw the departing flock of parliamentary candidates and the voters finishing their apples and tossing cores on the ground, not even bothering to carry them to the rubbish heap. Gradually the forest dwellers dispersed. Old Grandpa Echidna collected the apple cores on his spines and carried them to the rubbish heap. The election campaign had passed, but there would be much more of interest ahead.
