Wednesday, September 24, 2025

No figs left for us


There he goes again, that pesky little squirrel, 
Too fast for me to photograph 
As he separates another fig 
 From its branch among the leaves 
And scampers to a sturdier branch 
Beyond my field of vision 
To munch contentedly until the buck, 
Sharpening his antlers, shakes 
The whole tree, knocking squirrel and fig 
To the ground…

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