squirrel

I woke to a world draped in winter white
thicker than a down-filled comforter,
deep enough to swallow my snow boots
up to their necks.
“The fun stuff,” said the weatherman,
perfect for building snow people, snow forts,
and snowballs to launch at them.
It wasn’t our first snow of the season.
The first snow came several weeks ago
in a light layer falling as I drove home.
Sparkles fluttered past the gleam of headlights
as if God were sprinkling glitter over the city
to celebrate Winter.
By the next morning,
snow-glitter veiled roofs and decks,
grass-blades bent, ice-frosted,
brittle petals shivered, frozen.
Robins gathered at my heated birdbath
like office workers around a water cooler.
Feathers fluffed, bellies round as balls,
they chipped and chirped,
dipped their beaks, bobbed up,
eyed each other.
Until a squirrel came to drink.
Then they flew off together,
all but one brave robin who perched on the porch rail,
squinting over his feathered shoulder,
his back to the squirrel.
When at last the squirrel scampered off,
a mockingbird took its place,
then a cedar waxwing found his way,
maybe straying from his flock,
maybe the only one to spy
and wisely fly
to an unfrozen pool.
The squinting robin finally flew,
but probably just to wait in the nearest tree.
Robins share when they have to,
but I think that they think
they own this spot.
And in a world of winter white,
I am content to let them think so.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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Yesterday, a red-tailed hawk at least eight inches tall perched on the top rail of the fence near our sun room windows. His eight inches did not include his dark tail edged at the tip in white, which extended down over the fence rail for balance. This hawk had a mottled breast of rust and white feathers, a dark head, and bright yellow feet. The bird book I grabbed showed that he was an immature red tail. I was surprised that he stayed so long, at least five minutes, maybe more. So I stayed too, just out of sight, watching him.

All was quiet. The bird feeder was nearby, but my wise little birds were in hiding. A squirrel on top of the swing set was frozen in a crouch, focused on the hawk, who ruffled his dark shoulders and scratched himself. After a long look around, he shot up at a steep angle northward. Shortly after that, the squirrel scampered away, and birds returned to the feeder.

The thing about quiet is that it’s not necessarily peaceful. The quiet that descended with the hawk was actually full of tension. It was only after he flew that real peace returned. Peace was full of birdsong.

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week: