The Squirrel and the Crow by Anonymous

         Small puffs of fog dispersed moments after each breath. But they stayed in the chilly air long enough for the small squirrel to be amused. He stood high up on a tree branch, where he had decided was the second best place in the world (the first was taking a small nap in his warm nest). From where he stood, he could see almost everything, though he had no care for the view. He was too busy directing all his attention to the small frozen droplet clinging onto the tip of the delicate twig before him. He took small licks, trying his very best to savor every bit of the precious treat. Suddenly, a crow landed on his branch making the whole tree tremble. And the poor squirrel could only watch as the small droplet that’d been desperately holding on let go.

         Eye contact with a crow was difficult. The small bushy tailed rodent never truly knew if crows were looking at him, or something in his general direction. Not planning to figure it out, he turned away, facing the quiet scene before him. He didn’t like sharing the branch with a bird, so he waited, watching. Watching an elderly woman, layered in clothes from head to toe, dragging her trash cans against the concrete floor in a hurry to return to her home’s warmth. Watching a younger girl bouncing on her toes across the street, holding tight to the leash belonging to a less eager dog. Watching a fellow squirrel claw at the soft soil, proudly dropping in a tiny acorn. 

         It was then that the squirrel had a haunting realization: he hadn’t hidden a single nut this year. Turning around quickly, in a rush to get down the tree, he’d forgotten about the crow that stood in his way. He didn’t have the privilege to be scared. Eyes squeezed tight, he climbed onto the underside of the branch and sped past the oblivious bird. Eyes flying back open, he searched for the nearest acorn tree. Because even in a rush, he had standards, and acorns were, by far, the best nut.

         Scurrying from one tree to another, he found himself back at the small tree, where the crow rested, with a large acorn in his mouth and one in his hands. Last year, he’d forgotten where his acorns were hidden, causing him weeks of hunger, and this year, he was adamant on doing better. His eyes darted around, looking for any signs that he’d remember to look for in the coming weeks. But the loud squawks of the crow above gave him no room to think. A crow’s squawks were sounds that he’d never forget- when a genius idea popped in his head. If he hid his food stash under the tree where the crow stayed, no matter where he went, the sounds of squawks would always lead him back to his precious acorns. 

         Weeks passed, and the rodent began searching for his buried treasures. He listened for squawks, following them to each bird. For each crow he came across, he’d start digging nearby. Sinking his little paws into the soft soil, he prayed for a faint scent of acorns—that never came. Not a single acorn appeared beneath the great big crows that rested above.