Dashing Through the Snow

Yesterday afternoon was so lovely that while talking with a friend on the phone, I leaned against the windowsill, feeling the sun's warmth waft through the pane.  As Sara and I talked, I noticed in our backyard that there was evidence of little animals that have scurried lately around and on top of the snow.  Just then, one, then two, then tree, then four and finally five squirrels went dashing through the snow from the protection of a large evergreen tree to a nearby stand of arbor vitae.  They chased each other over and over, creating figure eights in the snow.  It was such a delightful display of jubilant playtime that I could barely keep from laughing while I was on the phone.   The squirrels' antics brought an entirely new interpretation for me of "dashing through the snow."

Suicide Mission

The squirrels seem to be on a suicide mission recently.  They wait until my car is right upon them and then they dart in front of me, sometimes scampering back and forth in front of the car, just to see how fast my reflexes.  The other day, at different intervals in a single city block, three squirrels burst out in front of me into the street.  Thankfully, all three made it across safely, but no thanks to their own antics.  That same day, I saw two "road kill" squirrels, one that became supper for two hungry crows.  The one crow was evidently so hungry that it hesitated to even get out of the way as our car approached.  As soon as we zoomed by, I saw that the crow quickly went back to its meal.  For those who have been following my blog for a bit, you know that I always cry, "Little Squirrel, Little Squirrel!" whenever one darts out in front of my car, as if my crying out to it will cause it to change its behavior and cross the street in the future with the light in the crosswalk.  Perhaps the squirrels' behavior is even more erratic these days as they gather food and prepare for the inevitably long winter.  Soon, they'll be tucked into their leafy nests high in the trees.  But, till then, they're making me catch my breath with each suicide mission in front of my car.

Little Squirrel!

Little Squirrel!  Those two words pop out of my mouth repeatedly when in the car.  It seems as if squirrels are always contemplating running out in front of my vehicle and all I can think to say is, "Little Squirrel!"  I hit a squirrel once while driving to work many years ago and I cried the entire rest of the way to work.  I couldn't bear to think that I had killed a living thing with my car (I'm the same one who "saves" spiders and carries them outdoors to place in the grass).  So, since then, I cry out to the squirrels that fancy darting out in front of me.  Larry always laughs and says that the squirrels are smart enough to stop and dash back the other direction, but I still carry the sadness and guilt of having run over that poor squirrel so many years ago.  What if that squirrel was someone's mother, father, brother or sister and its presence was missed in the leafy nest high up in the tree that night?  I've always been anthropomorphic so I can imagine the sad little squirrel family without their loved one because I had hit it with my car.  So, to avoid any more squirrel casualties, I'll be that crazy lady in the car crying out, "Little Squirrel!"

Acrobatic Antics

While in the dentist's chair recently, I had the opportunity to look out the window and watch birds flitting to a large feeder nestled between some of the trees that surround the clinic.  All of a sudden, the birds scattered.  A fat gray squirrel had come onto the scene.  He (or she) dashed up a nearby evergreen, walked gingerly onto a supple branch that waved vigorously under each step, and made an acrobatic leap onto the bird feeder's ample edge.  There, the squirrel dined and dined and dined, until an afternoon snack had turned into a feast and grabbing just a nibble had led to gorging.  I wasn't in the dentist's chair long enough to see how the squirrel got back down but I'm sure it hobbled away, stuffed with birdseed.  The amazing part of the encounter, however, had been the sheer courage and elegance with which the squirrel had taken its acrobatic leap onto the feeder.  With the Circus World Museum being in our community, I think the squirrel could find a dandy summer job displaying its acrobatic talents!

Rethinking My Nest

I was supposed to be making the bed early this morning, but then I caught sight of the light blue sky with pink puffy clouds and I was drawn to the window to appreciate the spectacular sunrise.  A bird sat still, high on the branch of a silhouetted tree in the distance.  Below it were four squirrels scampering in and out of a leafy nest in the crotch of the tree, like so many clowns scooting in and out of a tiny clown car.  The squirrels chased each other, darting from branch to branch.  Larry and I have noticed a lot of squirrel nests in bare trees these days, counting as many as seven in one tree.  It's funny how I worry about our "nest" at times -- Is it clean enough?  Do we have enough insurance on it?  Should we refinance our mortgage to an even lower rate?  Our home is important to us but the joy of this morning's scampering squirrels reminded me to lighten up, acknowledge my nest's to-do list, but revel in the celebration of simply being.