Committee of the Bushy-Tails


Convened in gentle morning sunlight, the committee’s called to order.  Each participant is at its post and eager to begin.  Poised and alert.  Focused.  Third-floor clothes line, second floor balcony, fifth-floor brick jutting from the façade.  The straggler waits on the rock wall across the lot.  A shrill “pee-deep!” rings out; seconded.  A third barks to disagree.  Heated squeaking debate rings out.  Bushy tails flailing; throes of squirrely conviction, argued.  The loudest will prevail; until tomorrow.

A small stone in River of Stones entry.

Copyright Jean Mishra 2012

These little squirrels live all over the apartment complex.  I see them every day climbing the building like it was tree, going from balcony to balcony, nosing in potted plants, peering in windows.  They don’t miss much.  Every morning they convene in their favorite places and “peep” to each other.  I often wonder what they’re talking about.

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