Squirrel In The Rain
He perches,
in sparkling eyed contemplation
of the goal.
Like some celebrated stylite,
he squats on
his post, oblivious
to the
hostile elements. My stare
intrudes
upon his gaze; defiance
resonates
across the intervening space. And then
the sudden
leap,
a precarious
landing on the ridge; teeth bared
he nuzzles
the meshwork tower,
seeking
nutrition.
Losing his
grip,
he hastily
takes flight, back
to the
stepping stone beam -
the garden
fence’s parapet.
A sudden
sure footed spring onto the post;
I stare at
him, he glowers back at me,
brush-tail
twitching. I sense
a mood of
defiance; he leaps once more
to the bird
tables roof.
A turbulent
manoeuvre finds
a covered
plateau. A sense
of
instability
takes
charge. He beats
a hasty
retreat.
Post
squatted,
he focusses
once more.
He steels
himself,
then
springs.
The
glistening plastic proves
more than a
match; he takes
a
floundering fall
into the
sodden undergrowth.
Bedraggled,
he climbs the austere fence,
tail
discomfortedly curled,
shakes
vigorously. The watery beads
propel
themselves from body into air.
Straight
tailed, disconsolate,
he beats
retreat
along the
wooden parapet.
Malcolm
Evison
22 May 2006
