Squirrel bonding?

I know, I know...it's been way too long since I've posted and for that I'm sorry as I am sure you've been on pins and needles awaiting my next entry.

Needless to say, we've been busy settling in to homeownership (New gutters!) and I spend a lot of time staring out of windows in my study not quite believing that this place really belongs to me (and Jason). Growing up, I led quite the nomadic existence and not that moving from place to place  doesn't come with its advantages, but it sure is nice to slow down and stay put for a change.

Lately, one of our favorite things to do is eat dinner on the front porch or, as seen below, have a beer and read The New York Times on the front porch.

 























While Jason devours the NYT, I've been revisiting the work of Naturalist poet, Mary Oliver in hopes that some of her ease will rub off on me. In a vain attempt at mimicry, I submit the following which is based on true events and was witnessed in the space below.

Crosshatching

My thoughts are on the gray squirrel

with his incandescent eye
and frantic whip of the tail
flitting across dandelion 
covering the backyard or
hiding out under the pink
azalea that came with the house.

He's more than likely stealing

bits of oregano from the herb garden
I can't seem to keep alive.

Life for him is a constant race.

Much like mine.
A barrage of weaving
in and out of the hawk's snare.

I think he knows I watch him

balancing on the fence
like some skittish tightrope walker.

Both of us unsteady

yet committed to two-step.
Wait. Scratch that.

It's more of a jerk

than a strut.

Or a waltz.

 

 

Thank you for reading,

xo

kh