Squirrel Nest

Squirrel Nest

The squirrel mother is building her nest,
a fort of dried leaves,
carried one mouthful at a time
from the forest floor
to the tree crotch.
Six or eight inches high,
snug like an igloo,
each leaf insulation
against the snow to come.

How does she know that hopping
straight down with the long branch
angled just so will pull the tumult
that spills out into a tight screen?
How does she know not to steal
all the leaves from the spaces
just around the nest, ranging
instead high in the tree
and far out on thin, unstable
bough to gnaw her prize free.

It is the dead leaf that first
attracted my eye,
provoking binoculars.
It is the one bit that seems a stunning
error in her camouflage, but then,
not knowing squirrel, who
am I to judge?

Author: Laurel S. Peterson

Photo: Mathew Schwartz on Unsplash