Tales Of Corwin

Late Monday night, after Mark’s parents had gone home to Maine, Mark sat alone, high in the branches of the old tulip tree. He was within ten or fifteen feet of what appeared to be a squirrel’s nest, and he had come to talk to the squirrels. His encounter with a tool-carrying squirrel in the Starved Rock State Park had helped him reach clarity about the fate of his tree. It would be hard for the squirrels (and any other inhabitants of the tree) to lose their home now, he thought, but it would be far worse for them to be in the tree if it fell in the middle of a winter storm. The tree had to come down now, before the weather turned. He’d called the tree service, and they’d said they could be there Wednesday or Thursday. “Hello, squirrel-friends,” Mark began, feeling rather foolish. He didn’t know if they were really in that nest, or if they could hear him, or if they could understand him. But he felt he had to make the effort. “I’ve brought you two gifts, and a warning. The first gift is this bag of acorns.