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- Herausgeber: Kelly Johnson
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
In Sasha the Skunk Smells the Roses by Kelly Johnson, Sasha is the most industrious creature in the forest, always racing to complete tasks and help others, never slowing down long enough to enjoy the beauty around her. Though deeply loved for her kindness and dedication, Sasha begins to feel an unexplainable emptiness despite her full days. One morning, a sweet, unfamiliar scent causes her to pause, drawing her into a quiet moment of stillness. As she follows the fragrance, she discovers a hidden grove of wild roses and, for the first time, allows herself to simply be. In this peaceful space, Sasha realizes that life is not just about doing, but also about feeling, noticing, and resting. Through this fragrant, gentle awakening, she begins to understand the quiet power of slowing downand the joy in simply smelling the roses.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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IMPRESSUM
Sasha the Skunk Smells the Roses
Author: Kelly Johnson
© 2025 Kelly Johnson.
All rights reserved.
Author: Kelly Johnson
Contact: 903 W Woodland Ave, Kokomo, IN 46902
Email: [email protected]
Disclaimer
This eBook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: The Busy Skunk
Chapter 2: The Fragrant Discovery
Chapter 3: Meeting Rosie the Rabbit
Chapter 4: A Lesson in Patience
Chapter 5: The Garden Blooms
Chapter 6: The Forest’s Secret
Chapter 7: Helping a Friend
Chapter 8: The Big Festival
Chapter 9: The Dance of the Roses
Chapter 10: Sasha’s New Way
Title: Sasha the Skunk Smells the Roses
Author: Kelly Johnson
Chapter 1: The Busy Skunk
Sasha the Skunk was the busiest creature in the entire forest—maybe even the whole valley. From the moment the first golden rays of sunlight peeked through the tall trees, painting the forest floor with dappled light and waking the world in a hush of dew and promise, Sasha was already up and in motion.
Her small paws pattered purposefully across mossy paths before the dew had even begun to dry, each step swift and full of urgency. Her black-and-white tail, always impeccably fluffed, trailed behind her like a flickering banner of movement. There were no slow mornings, no idle stretches or luxurious yawns. For Sasha, every dawn was a starting bell.
“There’s no time to waste!” she would declare to no one in particular, bounding over a mushroom patch with a satchel full of supplies. “I’ve got the burrow door to fix, the squirrel twins to check on, the chipmunks need acorns—oh, and the pinecone pile absolutely must be reorganized!”
Her voice, small but firm, seemed to ride the wind as she zipped through the underbrush. She rarely paused—not to smell the lilacs unfurling their fragrant blooms, not to listen to the hush of the wind weaving secrets through the high branches, and certainly not to notice the golden shimmer of dragonfly wings flickering like tiny stained-glass windows in the sun.
Every day, Sasha woke with a plan—a full mental checklist already scrolling through her mind before her eyes had fully opened. As she darted between the trees, she often spoke aloud to herself, ticking off tasks and adding more with each step. Her notebook, a small bundle of leaf-pressed pages, was tucked snugly into a pouch around her waist, scribbled full of little reminders, chore charts, and helpful notes.
“Sasha, wait!” a robin called one morning as she dashed past. “There’s something I wanted to show you!”
“Sorry!” Sasha replied mid-stride, not slowing down even a whisker. “Maybe tomorrow! Or the day after that! I’m completely booked today!”
She darted past a puddle without noticing the perfect reflection of the morning sky or the rainbow glint of a sunbeam caught in a droplet of water. She leapt over a sleepy snail, barely aware of the pale, glistening trail it left behind. The butterflies she passed gave startled flutters and scattered into the air, their lazy spirals disturbed by the gust of her passing.
Even the birds sometimes paused their songs to peer down at the streak of black and white blurring past. “That Sasha,” they’d chirp softly to one another, “always going, always doing.”
Despite her pace, Sasha was deeply beloved in the forest. She always showed up when someone needed her—even if she arrived in a whirlwind, nearly tripping over her own paws. She helped patch nests, carried water to thirsty flowers, hunted for missing mittens, and remembered every birthday. She never forgot a promise, never missed a meeting, and always gave more than she had to spare.
“Thank you, Sasha,” the chipmunks would say as she dropped off a basket of acorns, breathless but beaming.
“You’re the best,” the mole family would tell her as she repaired their little fence with tiny twigs and perfect knots.
Sasha would smile, nod, and be gone before the thanks had fully settled into the air, already on to the next thing, the next task, the next name on her list.
But sometimes—just sometimes—when she passed the quiet bend in the brook or darted through a grove dappled with sunlight and butterflies, a faint tug would flutter inside her chest. A tiny, inexplicable ache. She would glance, only briefly, at the shimmer of a spider’s web catching the morning light or the lazy sway of a fern frond brushing her leg. For a single second, she’d feel a question she couldn’t name.
Then it was gone—pushed aside by the next task, the next list, the next thing to fix, carry, plan, or solve.
After all, Sasha the Skunk had no time to waste.
Not yet, anyway.
But deep down, many of them worried about her.
“Sasha,” said Owl one evening as she delivered a note from the hedgehogs to the bluebirds, “the forest is full of stories. Some only speak in whispers. If you never stop, how will you ever hear them?”
Sasha had looked up at him with her bright eyes and given a quick smile. “I know, I know, Owl,” she said. “But I’ll listen after I finish my errands. Right now, I have a dozen things left to do!”
And off she had gone, vanishing into the shadows of the trees before Owl could even reply.
The days passed like that—one after another, a blur of movement and effort. Sasha wanted to help everyone. She wanted to be the best, the fastest, the most dependable creature in the forest. But slowly, without even realizing it, she began to lose something important.
One morning, she woke before the sun, as usual, but her paws felt heavier than normal. Her usual burst of energy was gone, replaced with a quiet ache that throbbed behind her eyes and in her chest. She looked out the window of her tidy little den and saw the sky painted in soft pink and orange, but didn’t really see it.
When she stepped outside, the songs of the morning birds drifted around her like music—but she didn’t listen. She hurried past the wildflowers without a glance, the gentle scent of honeysuckle brushing against her nose like a forgotten dream.
She didn’t understand it at first. She was doing everything right—completing tasks, checking off lists, helping everyone she could. So why did her chest feel hollow, like something beautiful had been left behind?
Sasha paused for just a moment near the brook that morning. The water glistened and trickled over smooth stones, playing its timeless song. For the first time in many days, she hesitated. She watched the water for just a second before pulling herself away.
“No time,” she whispered. “There’s no time for brooks and breezes.”
But as she turned to go, her steps were slower than usual. Her list drooped in her paw. She didn’t know what she was missing… only that she was missing something.
