A bird flies around. The trees wonder if he is going to land on them. They wait in anticipation. Suddenly, a squirrel runs up a tree. The bird flies off. The other trees look at one another. They saw the lone squirrel and hoped he would climb them next.
The bird flies home and tells his friends that all of the trees have squirrels in them. The other birds do not believe him, they wonder why he would make up such a story, but, they are scared of squirrels.
The nights grow cold and the leaves fall off of the trees. The squirrel wonders why he hasn't seen any birds lately. The fear of impending isolation makes him fold his arms and huddle on the ground. He is well stocked up for the winter, but he hears no sounds of life, no chirping, no flapping of wings. His heart beat feels soft.
His thoughts turn to the previous spring. He imagines thousands of birds flying around. He runs up to a high branch to get a better view. Their erratic patterns and cacophony of sounds delights his little squirrel senses.
He feels for a moment that he is not alone. He hears a chirp, but it was only the crackling of a branch that fell under the weight of an abandoned nest full of dewy leaves. He turns his head rapidly thinking someone was behind him. But no one is there.
The squirrel falls asleep in the same spot that he stood for what seemed to be days, tired, alone.