One sunny day a dozen squirrels sat in a rough circle surrounding an ancient oak tree. On the tree, amid the old gnarled and twisted branches hung a disorganized array of acorns dancing up and down with the gusts of wind like corks on the water.
Below, the squirrels looked up expectantly. One twitched his nose, another licked her lips, yet another scratched at their ear.
The leaves rustled, the branches dipped and swayed, the clouds lazily crossed the blue sky.
The squirrels waited.
Hours passed until finally, yes finally, the sound of a tiny thump on the fragrant green grass meant one of those precious nutty treasures let go of its hold and tumbled to the ground.
Twelve tiny sets of ears perked up.
The hardened shell cracked open revealing a warm golden light that nearly blinded the squirrels with its radiance. When the wooden halves split apart like flower petals unfolding and the light slowly retreated, the squirrels dared to look again and were greeted by the newest member of the ’13 Squirrels’. Inside the splayed encasing lie a tiny, furry friend blinking its eyes trying to adjust to the new view.
A collective chitter went through the onlookers declaring ’13 they had always been and 13 they were once more’.