Light rain trickles through the grooves in tree bark, and I am a squirrel. I am dry, and this is my home. I climb higher up the trunk until I reach a branch to perch upon while I gnaw an acorn.
I wouldn’t want to go out into the rain, and I don’t need to. Surrounded by leaves and pine needles, there is a feeling of contentment as I look out at the tranquil, dripping forest and enjoy my meal.
The tree is home and shelter and refuge and nourishment, and there is nowhere else for me to be.
Anamnema 
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