A squirrel leaps - ordinary enough -
and the one chasing behind chatters emphatically,
flicking its tail so violently its whole self quivers.
Meanwhile, the leap of faith ends poorly.
A cascading rustle of maple leaves
betrays the squirrel's misjudgment,
and I learn something new.
Squirrels somersault when tumbling ingloriously from treetops.
And, they bounce.
In a spectacular, medal-worthy recovery,
the flat-on-the-back-in-the-grass landing
from a crumpled fur heap to a silent twitching creature,
claws sunk half-way up the trunk of the target maple.
And, the squirrel above?
Spectating one would suppose, but I can't say.
Silent or not, it made no further impression on me.
For I was watching,
watching the tumbled one scrupulously avoid eye contact with me.
Photo: J.A. Merkle (2011)
Text: B.G.Merkle (observation made 07.17.2011)