The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
THE VISITOR
The first autumn leaves are drifting down. Amidst a scattering of shadows and light, the entire yard seems to move all at once, in harmony with the tree. Our neighbor's kitten chases their presence. Mr. Finch arrives for cookie crumbs and seeds on my table. Something distant, perhaps burnt, smelling dry as dust, mingles with hints of jasmine.
Through vacant fields with wild roses, then. The dusty zone is a dry oak perched on a hill across from the Junk Car office. Where aged vehicles are dismembered, airborne silt slowly translates bureaucracy into a jumble of grey shapes.
Past the hill rise glinty towers, light rail tracks glaring over Uber arguments. Lots corralled between investors show thin trails that guided prairie schooners once. A stray dog. The community college claims digging sticks are extracurricular, but teaches basket weaving.
An errant whiff of bleach recalls the logic of interconnections, for which there is no accounting. Smoothness of purple does not explain the baby squirrel, which has managed to squirm from under the sprinkler, across the lawn, and onto our patio, gasping for air. Shivering.
After being dried off and given a bowl with a paper towel for a nest, it calms down. Much like Tabitha, when stroked behind the ears the squirrel almost purrs, closing its eyes.
But Tabitha would eat it, given the chance.
Susan arrives. She googles for how to feed a baby squirrel, goes to a store to get the recommended formula, comes back and finds an eye dropper. Our visitor flops tiny paws over her finger and looks up at us.
Tabitha's cat carrier, ironically, will be its home for the night, wrapped in a hand towel. With the cat carrier in the bedroom, it burrows under and goes to sleep.
By the back fence this morning, near the statue of Saint Francis, I had to bury our friend.
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The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_