Shadow Tail

Squirrel eyes are watching, darting,
what do you search for here on the heath
where brown woods whisper at the edges.
In the garden the big oak, wise old woman
has let her leaves go
now all she has to offer are her bare branches,
a welcome of feathery twigs,
the company of woodpeckers and a startle
of magpies, a sudden black and white chatter,
a shimmer of green.

With squirrel paws you bring your store,
a precious hoard of Who knows what?
Still autumn and not yet winter,
bronzed leaves hide the lawn, the steps,
are edging in the doors, dancing in the corners,
a strong breeze twists the rotary dryer
to a dervish of a spin
making a windmill of washing,
turning sails, everything, outside in.

Behind your squirrel bustle, a ripple
of movement; he checks his course,
follows. Together you build, rearrange layers,
a home of dash and necessity
to tuck up cosy against the elements,
hollows to furnish, fashion to your shape,
room for the young,
space for your far flung squirrel words,
time to gather them in.