Highwire Stunts after a Snowfall

It snowed overnight, not with the banshee

wail and bluster of a Nor’easter we’re likely

to get in January, but with a quiet drift of

powder fine-lining the skeletal bones of oak

and maple and dusting the steepled fifty-foot

holly in the backyard. I’m at the kitchen

window taking in the serene Currier and Ives

scene when my periphery catches bursting

blooms of snow under backyard branches,

under telephone lines too, looking like jet

contrails. Should have known – the squirrels

(one likely our hand-fed pal named Chomper).

No different than our sliding, sledding, skating

kids and grandkids, they’ve bolted from cozy

overstuffed nests to skitter over these aerial

powdered roads and rails in their own version

of us, such are my foggy morning thoughts in

the window’s sun-glare. My legs lead me away

from snow and squirrels to fulfill the daily ritual

of pouring a cup of wakeup coffee, dipping into

morning news and the obligatory bowl of oatmeal.

But I leave the news unread, the coffee and cereal

cold, to go back again to my station by the window –

this time slightly less for the winter tableaux and

squirrelly antics than to prolong the merciful pause

of the worry-wheel that offers little rest or comfort.