FRIENDLY

This is a younger squirrel, thin adolescent tail. Not quite so magnificent, perhaps, as that uncle who leapt down from the fence, scattering doves in the seed bowl, a candelabra salvaged from the dumpster at the far end of Wood Duck Avenue, mounted upend now. Details just as important as those tail hairs, blazing in a shaft of light beneath the hackberry tree.

A movement picked out of peripheral vision works either way.

Squirrel freezes. The entire back yard dwindles to a few blades of grass, a few edging stones, and that motionless tail. Nothing else but two sets of eyes, focusing as one.

Speaking softly: “It's OK. The seeds are for you.”

The tail twitches to life, shy eyes closing slowly. Both sets for a moment. Then back to seeds. Back to reading. Checking in later, sure enough we're both still here. Eyes meeting are still the same.

This book is interesting.

Looking up again, squirrel is gone. There are other yards with seeds. No loss but, a certain loneliness words will not explain.