The Squirrel in the Tree

He's out there. I know he is. Though it's pitch black out my window and I can't see anything beyond the boxwoods just beyond the window sill, I know he is out there in his nest out on a limb in the Ash tree.

I saw him there the other day just after it had rained. I was sitting on the bench for a few moments, breathing the smell of the air and enjoying the soft ground under my feet. And I looked up into the canopy and saw him peering over the edge of his nest looking back. He must have been there in that nest the whole time it was raining. He must have been very wet.

And I saw him today running across the yard with strips of Juniper bark from some of the logs I recently used for terracing. Strips of bark and some other fuzzy things, several trips back and forth and up and down to make his nest cozy and dry again. Because it must have been very wet up there after that rain.

And then it rained again this evening while we were gone. The rain barrels are all full, as are the buckets and garbage cans I left sitting under the eaves. And so, the strips of bark and other fuzzy things must now be wet like everything was yesterday.

I can hear a train in the distance. And the cars on the freeway a quarter mile away. But I can't see a thing out the window, because of the pitch of night. Still, I know he's out there, and for all I know, he's peering over the edge of his soggy nest right now looking back at me.

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