Gyroscope Review 15-3 - Page 44

Squirrel by Jeff Jeppesen After two days the chattering from the trees has stopped. There, in the grass: what looks like a pile of rags beneath the utility pole outside my home. I don’t understand what changed. When did this little body, once a proud, albeit fuzzy warrior willing to battle to the death the humming power transformer, lose its essential squirrelness? Zapped all to hell in an instant, for two days its comrades mourned, called for it to flit back to the branches up away from the all too wide open ground. The mighty fighter eked out a small victory considering the block lost power for a few hours, my clothes only halfway through the wash cycle. But whatever its brothers and sisters once recognized, has departed and now they ignore the small body. Winter creeps close and there are food stocks to hide; mind-maps of these lawns and yards, hedges and trees, to carefully remember, carefully remember.
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