As Peter the squirrel walked toward the male human's garden, he knew what he was about to do was wrong; it might even get him killed.

It was too late to change his mind, his eyes would not focus on anything but the precious vegetables; the ones the male human so tenderly worshiped. Peter ducked under the small barrier fence, walked through the aging turnips wilting in the sun and approached the tall, manicured tomato plants; swollen, red fruit hung rich and heavy on the vines. Peter stood at the side of the plant for a moment, admiring the sculpted handiwork of the male human. Peter then began tearing the fruit from the vine, pulling each tomato off in the most destructive way, ripping the fruit apart and throwing it's red, bleeding carcass onto the brown earth. One tomato for ever humiliation heaped upon him over the years from the male human; one for every bark and scare from the male human's wicked dog, for the constant fear, the loss, for every time he had sat trembling from a near-miss. Peter tore and ripped, slinging the vile fruit in a blind rage; the rage no longer needed the catalyst of his flawed reasoning, simply rage and fear and anger and humiliation. 
 

At some point, perhaps for lack of eligible fruit, or forgetting exactly why he started, Peter the squirrel began to regain a bit of his sense -- sufficient composure to exit the garden, travel back up his hometree, glance down at the carnage and enter his house. Peter laid down on his cot, pulled the flannel sheets over his head and slept for a very long time.

"I must still be dreaming," thought Peter the squirrel, "What a ruckus!"

"No I'm not dreaming," pinching himself on the ribs, "what could be causing all this noise?" he thought.

Peter threw back his burlap bed sheet and walked over to the small round window facing the WolfAndMan garden. At this very early hour, and to his surprise, everyone that he knew was out near the garden; all the village people, the WolfAndMan, night creatures, day creatures, flying creatures, even the scurrying creatures were bravely defying the encroaching sun. No one seemed to be afraid of anything, not even fearful of the more menacing creatures in the crowd. What's more, they were all dancing and whooping like they just didn't care. Even Garden Snail who, on principle, never danced was dancing; he didn't even dance at that mandatory dance thing last year, which turned out to be a horrible mess; he was sentenced to seven days jail but enjoyed it so much that he refused to leave, which is also illegal and punishable by seven days jail... well you can see what a mess. Yes Garden Snail was dancing, even leading the dance with some crude song about a sailor's wife. He did not even seem to notice that WolfAndMan's wife had resorted to cartwheels and that he was standing within the general trajectory. 

"Has the world gone mad?" Peter thought watching several village people heartily stomping on his buried walnut patch, "ack... there goes my nuts."

"Oh... so you better not wink at the sailor's wife!" Garden Snail bellowed.

Peter the squirrel woke up more peaceful than he had been in a long time. He slowly fell out of the night's last dream, some concoction from his imaginings of Scandinavia and its fauna. He untangled himself from his pet wolf, sat on the side of the bed and bathed in the cool-orange glow of his den.

No yesterday, no tomorrow.

His withered paw did not bother him as it usually does in the morning. It was there, but it did not seem to matter that much, so pleasant was his mood.

Peter the squirrel lost his special box, or it was stolen.

Peter never moved the box, it always sat in the middle of his small, round table. How could he have lost it?

His box held his notes and stories -- endless scraps of paper scribbled on front and back, erased and edited, re-erased and re-edited. The box held nothing that would be considered valuable to anyone else. Who would steal a box, made from a nibbled and discarded acorn, stuffed with scribbles of paper?

Peter laid down on his bed, positioned himself in a squirrelish curl and cried himself to sleep. At first Peter had terrible nightmares, monsters both real and imagined appeared to him. Peter soothed each monster in turn. Gradually, Peter began to fall into more colorful worlds -- pleasant dreams filled with family and loved ones, happy memories and fairy tales.

Rested, Peter eventually woke up. He was confused, but pleasantly surprised to find that his cherished acorn box was sitting in the center of his small round table, where he always kept it. Peter could not explain where the box went or why it was now returned. He decided not to think about it at this time, just have some breakfast and scribble a note or two.

Peter the squirrel realized he had made some poor decisions of late. Storming when he should have retreated, taking when he should have given, speaking when silence would have been preferable.

Peter realized that he was adrift.

Pacing his tiny, one room house, 'What should I do?' he thought. He then remembered his special piece of paper. Peter stopped his pacing and walked over to a small table. In the center of the table was a tiny box made from the two halves of a walnut. Peter removed the top half of the box. Inside was a small, folded-once note. Peter took out the note and unfolded it. Scrawled on the paper, in a hand probably not his own were the words, 'Just be kind'.

Peter could not remember why this would help, but he had learned instinctively to trust this small scrap of paper.

Peter the Squirrel repositioned his nest padding so that he could lie on his back and watch the stars as he fell asleep. (Peter's nest was on the very top floor of a tall cedar tree that had its top broken off.)

As the sunlight faded and the air cooled, the sky began to fill with tiny lights. First planets, then the boldest twinkling stars, followed by whole constellations. Peter fell asleep before the glowing swath of the Milky Way appeared, his soft white belly exposed to the universe.

Peter

Peter the squirrel woke up later than usual. The sun had been up for hours, so he expected the weather to be hot and muggy, but it wasn't. He took extra time with his chores, letting his mind drift from one thought to the next. Everything seemed to have a bright magical film, the air glistened. Laying out his nut and berry lunch, he made a mental note to remember this bright and beautiful summer morning.

Peter the squirrel turned his body to face the wind. As the cool fall breeze combed his fir against his skin, he became lost in his own thoughts. For a moment, closing his eyes, he felt himself become invincible, existing as pure white light.

Perched atop the tall cedar, Peter the squirrel spent the better part of the evening coming to terms with his own smallness. He envisioned himself feeding at the mouth of life's cornucopia with less understanding than a suckling child.

Peter the squirrel and the the tall cedar he was sitting atop were black shadows against the dark blue evening sky. Peter's twitching tail was the only element suggesting the scene was not a perfectly executed paper cut-out.

...all of a sudden, halfway up the tree, the squirrel remembered how to dance. He remembered that all things dance in their own way.  Lifting and spinning his perfect body midair, all the lost and forgotten nuts and berries and love poured back into his tired soul.

Scurrying up the rest of the tree took much less time than he thought it would.