A head tiny, sticks outward from hole.
Up high, scanning
for dangers distant.

From limb nearby a neighbour it sees,
leaping from branch to branch—
carefree.

Home lined tight with fur and leaf,
warm and soft,
comfort, seclusion, and heat.

With one anxious paw placed on bark's edge,
out it inches, inspecting overhead
for raptor looming.

It scampers out, wandering not far.
The move a tempt to that which might lie
in wait.

As threat proved false, head first its descent,
to reach carpet of flame and leaf, fulfilling desire—
sustenance.

Paw on floor it dismount bark,
big eyes searching for its like,
its competition.

By hop and bound it manoeuvres the land,
beneath arbor owning winter home,
the tall oak.

The giant's arms, splayed to fingers.
By them it propagates, a provider,
a giver of life.

Acorns—a favoured meal, the crop this year so small,
many have come to feast of nut
bitter.

Some too small, or marked, or holed.
Those unripe buried to percolate until
delight.

Ever wary, amassing winter store,
searching and scratching, until finding one
just right.

Teeth like sabres, peeling case to flesh beneath,
a bushy tail demands black eye. Oh,
envious brother.

Scramble ensues, a chase, feathery tails waving,
barking forth and back,
a harmless show.

After a moment they part,
ownership retained,
precious maintained in
possession.

Upon fallen log it sits, billowly spine curled over back.
In hands it roles, fingers gripping, shell piling, teeth gnawing—
Content.

A sudden snap,
an echo
unheard.

A strike so swift,
so accurate,
painless.

There one moment,
the next,
simply gone.

One bounce, then two, the acorn falls.
The prize once won, return to earth,
eviscerated—unclaimed, destined for
decay.

Leaf beneath boot, the hunter's approach,
neither with joy nor smile, steps heavy with
weighted soul.

Unsheathing hand from leather,
stooping, reaching low to prey at peace in
Autumn's Ember.

Warm in grip, yet frame gone limp,
a regretful finger stroking
stilled body.

A life of worth, of value,
seen as pest by most though beauty by
him.

This place, its home, the grounds on which it foraged,
forever quieted, absent presence, its
life.

No longer would two roam and chase,
where pair competed for food sparse, now live one
with plenty.

High in timber, the hole not long ago dwelling,
warm and secure, awaiting occupant's return in vain.
Tonight cold, empty—
lonely.

On the morrow, upon lifting sun,
the leaves at Titan's base would rustle fail, the
playfulness gone.

Fur flat, tail fallen between fingers bare,
his life's consequence far reaching, not without effect,
not without
footprint.

Soon to leave, his presence gone,
the absence in his wake, his mark on the land,
the place
now quiet.

A broken heart,
for sake of
breath.