At the edge of the woods, under the rosebush, 2025
Mondriaan Prospects, Art Rotterdam
Wood, paint, tin, pinecone, ladybug, paper, aluminum, flies, piece of car
Photos by Tommy Smits

At the edge of the woods, under the rose bush, the bumblebee had a little store. It was only a small affair, with neither window display nor counter. But there were some things for sale. They were things that hardly anyone ever needed: a pine needle, a bit of lint, a drop of water, a blade of grass, a scrap of beech bark, a wilted willow rose and a few specks of dust. “Sometimes,” the bumblebee said if anyone asked whether he ever sold anything.

One day the leopard gave a party to which he had invited only the neatest animals – so not the cockroach and the earthworm and the hornet, nor the hippopotamus, the squirrel or the ant. But he did invite the wasp, the swan, the cobra, the flamingo, the trout and the grasshopper.

Early on in the afternoon of that day, the grasshopper stood before the mirror to see if he looked neat enough. He pushed the panels of his coat a little closer together, pulled his shoulders back slightly, brushed his feelers for the umpteenth time and let a genteel smile play around his lips.
And yet, he thought, as he imagined the way he would enter the leopard's house, I’m still missing something, something distinguished, something…
Suddenly he knew it. He looked around, pulled open drawers, jumped up on cabinets, peered into vases and ran his finger along ledges. But he didn't find what he was looking for.
He rushed out and asked the swallow, who had been invited at the last minute and was ironing his coat. But the swallow could not help him. The grasshopper ran to the bumblebee's store.

Panting, he dashed inside.
'I need a speck of dust,' he said. His antennae twitched in agitation.
'A speck of dust...' the bumblebee said thoughtfully. 'I do believe I have another one of those.’ He led the grasshopper to a corner of the store where a small grey speck of dust lay behind a sign that said No Coughing.
The grasshopper looked at the dust carefully and then said, 'Although I would prefer a slightly lighter bit, I’ll take this one anyway. How much do I owe you?’
'Let's see...' said the bumblebee. 'That'll be a fortune.’
The grasshopper, to his regret, did not know how much a fortune was. Besides, he had nothing on him. But, he thought, I am meeting so many distinguished animals tonight that there is bound to be someone with a fortune or two among them, who will want to give me one.
'Tomorrow morning you’ll receive a fortune,' he said.
‘Good' said the bumblebee, and with delight he flew to the ceiling and back. The grasshopper took the speck of dust and left the store.

That evening he entered the hall where the leopard was giving his party. For a moment he lingered in the doorway and let his gaze glide over the attendees: he saw the flamingo, gazing civilly out a window, and the gazelle who was cooling his forehead by waving an aspen leaf, and he also saw the swan, doing its utmost to sink deep into thought.
The leopard excused himself from the red deer and approached the grasshopper.
'Grasshopper!’ he said. 'Welcome, welcome.' He extended one of his claws hospitably.
The grasshopper nodded imperceptibly, tilting his head slightly to the side. Then, with an airy gesture, he whisked the speck of dust off his shoulder, smiling mildly and charmingly.