I watch you from my window when my heart aches.
Your scurrying, scampering madness,
feet rushing rapidly, then nose
jabbing into the fresh morning dirt
in search of buried treasure.
Sometimes you fly.
A frozen moment–
fluffy tail extending,
little body soaring
effortlessly through molasses air,
toward the bird feeder,
your eyes filled with hope
for what cannot be.
Other times you hate.
When your rival slinks forward,
those eyes sprout malevolence like ivy.
You launch forward,
the peaceful critter coming alive.
Savagely, playfully you twist around the tree,
unleashing that primal fury of the fae,
bark raining down like tears, hail, fire.
Your thrilling, territorial game,
bestial tag amongst the cutest of God’s children.
Are you, nimble squirrel, happy?
Are you safe?
Are you free?