Beschrijving
In April, when the river shrugged off its ice and ran quick and blue, Moomintroll woke with a shiver of gladness. He padded through the wet garden, where last year’s shells glimmered between brave little shoots, and listened for a harmonica he hoped to hear. A soft, familiar tune drifted over the bridge, and Snufkin’s hat appeared like a small green sail against the pale sky. Together they sat on the damp pier, sharing silence and the first strawberries from Moominmamma’s pantry, while April went on unfolding like a map of bright new days.
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