For a few weeks now, I've noticed the tree squirrels in our neighborhood a bit more. And I've decided that this is because, as the air cools and winter begins, they are moving much slower. No longer do they leap between the oak trees in the canopy adjacent to the deck; we spot them, rather, loping along on the ground and lounging on the oak's branches.
Last week, I was walking up the narrow steep road to our house after a sunrise jog and I came across a squirrel who was so perfectly fuzzy and unmoving that he appeared at first to be sleeping in the road. As I approached I noticed a slight trickle of bright red blood on his mouth. I couldn't believe that this tiny creature could meet his fate without more fanfare than a trickle of blood. Naturally I felt responsible somehow for his untimely death, just by being part of the human race. And even though I was not driving the car that hit him, I began to think of all the close calls I'd had with squirrels in the past month as they slow into hibernation. I know that part of life is death, but I still think that both need to be given the utmost respect. So I quietly took a forked branch in my shaky hand, carefully rolled the still squirrel off of the road, and wrapped his fluffy tail up around his belly.
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