A story by Ezra Nadav for Miranda and Dylan — who know how to explore, notice, and make room for more than one place to feel like home.

Pip the squirrel lived most of the year in a busy part of the forest, where paths crossed often and voices carried through the trees. But every summer, when the air grew thick with the smell of grass and sun-warmed earth, Pip packed a few favorite things and traveled to another place he loved just as much.

It was quieter there.

The trees stood farther apart. Crickets sang at night. The sky felt bigger, and the stars seemed closer, as if they had leaned down to listen.

Pip liked having two places.

One where things moved quickly.

And one where time stretched out like a lazy afternoon.

Still, sometimes he wondered if it was strange to love more than one home.

One summer morning, Pip was sitting on the fence near the open fields, watching the tall grass ripple like waves. A firefly blinked even though the sun was still up—early, but eager.

“Hello,” Pip said. “You’re out early.”

“I like to practice,” the firefly replied. “Big nights need preparation.”

Pip smiled. That made sense.

Later that day, Pip heard laughter nearby—bright, curious laughter that belonged to two young humans visiting the countryside. They ran along the edge of the woods, pointing out shapes in the clouds and daring each other to hop over stones in the creek.

Pip watched from a branch.

One of them liked to stop and notice things—the way leaves turned silver underneath, the pattern ants made on the ground. The other liked to move ahead, testing paths, calling back, “This way!”

Pip felt something warm stir inside him.

Different ways of exploring, he thought.

Both important.

As the sun dipped low, a summer storm rolled in—quick and loud. Thunder rumbled, rain drummed, and the forest grew dark and fresh all at once.

The two children hurried toward shelter, their voices steady but fast.

Pip darted into a tree hollow and waited.

When the storm passed, the world smelled new. The children returned, quieter now, walking side by side.

That night, Pip sat beneath the stars, thinking.

He realised something important:

Some people—and squirrels—have more than one place they belong. One where life is full and busy, and another where it slows down and teaches you how to listen.

Both are real homes.

Both leave their mark.

Before heading back to his Oak Hallow, Pip gathered a smooth stone from the creek and a small feather from the field. He kept them together, a reminder that loving two places didn’t split his heart—it grew it.

As the fireflies lit up the dark, Pip whispered to the night:

“Wherever I am, I carry the other place with me.”

And the stars blinked back, as if they agreed.

The End

For now…