Squirrel Talk
by Scott Shaffer

It’s Christmas morning at our house; presents are no longer center stage.
Granddaughter Lucca (age 2) and I retreat to the sunroom.

We engage in a favorite activity, “squirrel talk”– a clucking
(or is it clicking?) that causes our bushy buddies to perk and stare at us.

My right foot is propped up, resting on a window sill. Lucca reclines
on my right knee, relaxes in my gentle embrace; her left hand rests

on my locked hands; her wistful, brown eyes gaze at the snowless yard
and frozen lake beyond. Our tawny friends romp a jig on the gnarly pine.

One clambers to the attached squirrel feeder, asks, “Any peanuts in there?”
I cluck, “Yep!” He noses up the lid, grabs his treasure, and scampers up

the bark to the splintered owl box. Has he commandeered it for his home?
Lucca scouts out “quirrels” at her house, so she’s entranced.

Her wispy brown hair frames her faraway look, smooth face, faint smile.
Clock time slows, … no, evaporates; we slip into “Be time”–

There’s a sense of wonder. Peace pervades. Something sacred seems afoot.
No hurry to return to regular time.

On this delightful Noel, we stay put for a while, celebrating together
the newborn King, … and chatting with his squirrels.



 

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