Red Squirrel in Red Deer
Waiting for a meeting to start, always early,
time to worry, wrong place, wrong day?
I watched a small red squirrel at the foot of a large spruce
no time for self doubt there, but I wondered for him.
How did he choose which of the hundreds of cones
to hoard, to bury, to eat
how did he decide to leave his tree for another to get a cone there
to bury back here.
What instinct drove him, industrious, territorial
always acting, always moving.
What memories can he harbour in May of a winter to come?
And what should I hoard from this, what to treasure, from this moment
with its lesson in industry, preparation, self confidence with
a leavening of obsession.