Oh, To Be a Squirrel
Day fourteen
of my daily poem challenge.
It’s been amazing.
Fulfilling. Energizing,
in the manner of new growth.
Which,
as it happens,
is tiring.
Yet I dare not skip today.
I need the streak
to avoid the inertia of Netflix.
Little games
to stave off entropy.
Little games
to make myself do
what I already wanted
to have done.
Outside my window,
a squirrel skulks,
snatching our barely ripened strawberries
and tormenting the cats.
His work is his play.
Where’s the play
in my games?
Yesterday,
I saw him sunning
in a fork
of a Ponderosa Pine.
Does he ever tire of gathering acorns
and watching his back?
Maybe.
But he’s not lying awake
worrying about the winter,
or complaining to his psychiatrist
about the injustice of his food system
and the irrational hatred of those cat guards.
No squirrel Prozac.
No Eat. Pray. Love.
Just:
Eat.
Play.
Sleep.
Oh, to be a squirrel.
Then again,
maybe he’s thinking:
“Oh, to be a human.
All of that food.
All of that time for play.
If I had that abundance,
I’d feed all the squirrels—
and the birds, too.”
Maybe I’ll just
gather my thoughts
and get back to it.
This is
kind of fun,
after all.
What little games do you play to get yourself to do what you wish to have done (which, note, is not the same as what you wish to do)?
Note:
On Sunday, April 26, I’m giving a talk with the Insight Meditation Community of Denver titled “Beds Don’t Stay Made: Acting Without the Need to Fix” (which, spoiler, relates to the forthcoming Thursday poem). It’s in-person in Denver and online via Zoom. We sit from 4–4:45 p.m. MT, with the talk and discussion from 5–6.
The following Sunday (May 3), I’ll also be facilitating an “Introduction to Meditation” session for a smaller group at IMCD. Less silent sitting, more walking through different approaches and common misconceptions. That’s from 4–4:45 p.m. MT. All are welcome. No experience (and no particular beliefs) needed.
If you’d like the Zoom link for either, feel free to comment or send me a note