Beyond my wide second storey window
tall oak trees reach for sky:
habitat for acrobatic squirrels
negotiating interlacing branches
Climbing purposefully, on their bark,
this one reconsiders, backing up
with flurry of tail, progressing upwards again.
(towards his nest?)
They don’t run. They loop —
up in the air, then down again;
forward with bushy tail waves,
changing direction, hurrying onwards.
Close by the window, there’s a section of trunk
bearing a right angled projection,
probably for a flag, of long ago.
Now and again it hosts a squirrel
sitting motionless on its narrow surface
(surveying the world).
Tail resting comfortably up on the bark
he sits. Never a twitch; staring intently
at our little forest: a statue.
One squirrelly twist and he stares in our window,
motionless; continuing to ponder.
Oops! He galvanizes energy
climbing with claws deftly grasping the bark
(he goes on his journey).
There is another one!
high, among distant lacy branches
silhouetted high, against the sky
(hinting of rain now).
Once in a while the tree-filled scene
erupts into motion: small dark forms
looping, vanishing, reappearing
Oh the secrets of the trees!
The countless lives among them!
Moss, birds, spiders, ivy —
and others we never thought of.
City life scarcely notices:
Nearby cars are rushing to destiny daily
(right past unseen forest).