Little Red Squirrel

Every day for the past week
and so on for the rest of the month
the Widow Wyile has pondered
her Wednesday walk by the water
            dark winding canal on her right
            white sparkling snowy fields under sun
on her left
the gravel roadway extra crunchy
with a bit more than a soupçon
of         ice       granules 

She’s pondered it daily
throughout December
not only to revisit the pleasure
of wandering again
the road and then the woodsy path
the river rush-burbling over rocks
the subtle aroma of conifer terpenes
the simple satisfaction of naturally
being in nature
but because of the taut
                                                springy
                        squirrel
just before the venerable giant hemlock
where the path veers
                                    from the sounding waters
across a pasture 

she paused 

the squirrel skittered
acorn in its mouth
jumped 180s
            like a paratrooper
checking the environs
and because
she stayed
stock
still
squirrel suddenly
sat back on haunches
raised the nut
and began its rapid
infinity motion
iron incisor shucking
like an electric singer sewing machine
in the hands of an expert
concentrating fully
until
            jump!
time to check the perimeter
bounce!
            spring!
                        check check
sit        top speed peel
leap to all fours
repeat
            check
the nut is free
            quick look around
then briskly gnawed  

squirrels are amazing
            frenetic creatures
agile     cautious     supersonic
the remains of the nut
            split     in two
pieces
the squirrel
simply abandoned 

there’s a message here
no doubt
live life with vigour

eat your fill
no more
and always
always
be alert 

but such intensity
constant vigilance
is exhausting
so the Widow Wyile
hopes squirrel
nest rests
as her lively
Kipperlings do