dear_table tt the squirrel sat in his house at the top of the beech tree. it was raining and it was winter. gusty winds blew against his window. the ant was away on a journey. the squirrel leaned on his table and said, with a deep sigh, and without meaning anything in particular, "there we go." the table squeaked. it was a soft and ordinary sound, but it sounded as if the table wanted to say something back. the squirrel heard, "oh...well..." they were slow and hesitant words from something that had always remained silent. "i suppose i never really think about the table," the squirrel thought. "i never say anything to it. i never take it on a journey, never celebrate its birthday, never give it a gift, never ask it what it fancies. it just stands there." the squirrel sighed. "i suppose i should do something for it," he thought. "but what?" he thought for a long time and then decided to write a letter to the table. he took a piece of beech bark, put it on the table, and started writing. dear table, is there anything i can do for you? he put his pen down. "what else can i write to the table?" he wondered. "is there something i can tell it? i think it already knows everything i do." he thought deeply, but he couldn't think of anything and finally wrote his name in large letters at the bottom. SQUIRREL "for you," he said. he slid the letter to the middle of the table. the storm threw the widow open, grabbed the letter, and knocked the table over with an enormous bang, making it bounce up and down at least five times. then it slammed the window shut again with a deafening crash. the squirrel sat in his chair, feeling dazed. the table lay on its side in a corner. the letter was gone. after a while, the squirrel stood up and righted the table. the drawer was on the floor, and next to it, the squirrel noticed a letter with curled up corners that did not look familiar to him. he opened it and read: dear squirrel, that wasn't falling, that was dancing, for you, because you thought of me. you don't have to do any more than think of me. your dear table the squirrel didn't wonder how the table could have written the letter. he rested his head on his front paws, and his front paws on the table, and fell asleep. 130210 ... gabbie and so, with enough imagination all things are possible? 130210 ... PeeT i try. 130210 what's it to you? who go blather from