The oak tree stood in the middle of a wide green meadow, and it was home to two very different creatures.
On the third branch from the top lived Pip, a squirrel who believed that the secret to a good life was preparation. Pip spent every waking hour gathering acorns, hiding them in hollows and crevices and secret spots only he knew about. He had a system. Small acorns in the eastern hollow. Large acorns under the loose bark. Medium acorns in the old woodpecker hole that had been empty for three seasons. Pip did not believe in surprises. Surprises meant you had not prepared properly.
On the fifth branch from the bottom lived Sunny, a bird who believed that the secret to a good life was going where the food was. Sunny did not store anything. Why would you? The world was full of berries and seeds and fat juicy caterpillars, and all you had to do was fly to find them. Sunny spent her days exploring the meadow, the creek beyond it, the farmhouse on the hill. Every day was a new adventure. Every meal was a discovery.
They argued about it constantly.
"You should see my stockpile," said Pip, patting the bark near his stash. "When winter comes, I will be eating acorn soup while you are out there freezing your feathers off."
"When winter comes," said Sunny, "I will be in a warm place with better food than your boring old acorns. I heard there is a woman on the hill who puts out sunflower seeds."
"Sunflower seeds," said Pip. "That is not a plan. That is a rumor."
"It is called opportunity," said Sunny. "You should try it sometime."
And so the days went. Pip stockpiled. Sunny explored. And neither thought much of the other's way of living.
Then the sky turned green.
It happened in the middle of the afternoon, when the sun was still high. The light shifted to a strange yellow-green color, and the air went still and heavy. Pip felt it first. He stopped mid-chew, a mouthful of acorn halfway to his cheek. The hair on his back stood up.
Sunny landed beside him, which was unusual. She never landed near him unless she was about to start an argument.
"Do you feel that?" she said.
"Something is wrong," said Pip.
The wind hit before they could move. It came from nowhere, a wall of air that bent the oak tree sideways. Pip dug his claws into the bark. Sunny flattened herself against the branch. The sky went dark and the rain came, not in drops but in sheets, sideways, stinging, cold.
The oak tree groaned. Branches snapped. A massive crack split the air, and the top third of the tree tore away and crashed into the meadow.
Pip held on. He held on through the wind and the rain and the sound of his home breaking apart around him. When the storm finally passed, when the wind died and the rain softened to a drizzle, he opened his eyes.
The oak tree was a stump.
His hollows were gone. His crevices were gone. His acorns — all of them, the small and the large and the medium — were scattered across the meadow, buried under broken branches and torn leaves. Three seasons of preparation, gone in ten minutes.
Pip sat on what remained of his branch and did not move.
Sunny flew back a few minutes later. Her feathers were ruffled and one wing was bent at an odd angle. She landed beside him.
"The farmhouse is gone," she said. "The roof caved in. The woman with the sunflower seeds is staying with her sister in town."
Pip said nothing.
"And the creek flooded," said Sunny. "The berry bushes are underwater."
Pip still said nothing.
"I am sorry about your acorns," said Sunny quietly.
"They are all gone," said Pip. "Every single one."
"And my sunflower seeds are gone," said Sunny. "And my nest is somewhere in the next county."
They sat together on the broken branch, looking at the wreckage of everything they had built.
"So now what?" said Sunny.
Pip looked at the meadow. Acorns were everywhere, buried under debris. But they were there. He could see the glint of brown shells between the leaves.
"My acorns are still here," he said slowly. "They are just not where I put them."
Sunny followed his gaze. "And the berry bushes will grow back. But not until spring."
"I know where there is a mulberry tree," said Pip. "On the other side of the creek. If the water goes down."
"It will," said Sunny. "Give it a day or two."
They looked at each other.
"Here is what I am good at," said Pip. "Finding things. Digging. Organizing. I am good at knowing where things are."
"Here is what I am good at," said Sunny. "Seeing things from above. Spotting what is far away. Finding paths that are not obvious."
Pip nodded. "So I will find the acorns and dig them out. And you can watch from above and tell me where the good ones are."
"And after that," said Sunny, "I will show you where the wild strawberries grow, if you promise to save some for winter."
"I can do that," said Pip.
They started that afternoon. Pip dug through the debris, and Sunny called directions from above. By sunset, they had recovered nearly half the acorns. Pip found a hollow log nearby that would make a good temporary home. Sunny found a thick patch of ivy where she could build a new nest.
It was not the oak tree. But it was something.
"You know," said Sunny, as the sun set behind the broken tree, "you are not as annoying as I thought."
"You are worse," said Pip. "But you have good eyes."
High above the meadow, a single star appeared. They sat together, watching it, and neither of them felt like arguing.