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Nuts! thinks the fox squirrel, gathering acorns and burying them beside a woody rose bush.

Nuts! thinks the squirrel, hiding in some brush, waiting to steal the treasure in the den of the park’s big oak tree.

Nuts! thinks the squirrel, nibbling on a long leaf pine seed before digging down into the earth of the schoolyard.

By the parking garage, in the yard next to the barking dog, on the other side of the stone bridge, under the tapped maple, down by the trickling stream.

Nuts? thinks the squirrel, cozily curled in the den, brain busy organizing locations that span acres as small dots of snow start to spiral from the sky.

Nuts... thinks the squirrel, trying to remember where the nicest ones were put.

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