Squirrels

I’ve watched squirrels my whole life. They inhabit a zone just outside domesticity, are diplomatically wild. They worry and stare,

behaviors of which I approve. They horde forgetfully, gorge daintily. Sometimes they just stop. And fall asleep, mid-day,

on a limb or a fence post, all energy drained. Sometimes frenzy possesses them—something to do

with sex or fleas—mad bursts of wants followed by a frozen pose. Squirrels are not everything I had hoped wilderness

to be. They are though everything I would want squirrels to be, and slightly more, for there’s always

just one more surprise ready to leap out of squirrel-evolution and seize the nut, bury it, and pat fresh

soil over the nut-grave. And run away!