I can remember a conversation between my parents from a long long time ago. The only memory I have of them.
Mom – hey, isn’t it a fine winter evening?
Dad – yes, it is.
Mom – have we gathered all of them already?
Dad - no, not all.
Mom – let’s start looking then.
Dad – hmmm, here?
Mom- no there.
Dad – oh here, I found one.
Mom- oh good, I found the others.
Dad – can’t find the one I buried here, I know I buried him safe somewhere around this tree.
Mom- forget it, it’s getting late. Let’s head back home.
I was the seed they were talking about, the one my squirrel dad buried safe.
On a tree
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