A rustling and a scuffle, held high above the ground where such things usually take place, drew my attention to the crux of the Eastern white pine and a coral bark Japanese maple tree. A pair of squirrels quarreled or played in the arms of the latter, sending a few maple leaves fluttering to the floor, before they charged into the feathery planes of the pine boughs. What could have caused such a tussle? The curiosity into the lives of squirrels takes me blessedly out of the day, and anything that takes us out of ourselves is a good thing. How many hours have I spent self-fucking the ego? Surely enough for a lifetime.
Let us look to the trees, and beyond to the sky, to figure out ourselves through detachment and distance. It all goes around and comes around, and around and around we go…
