On tailbones and my affinity for walnuts.

Sitting in boxers
scratching myself
in between chapters
on a bathwater Sunday
the power goes out
for a split second
not long enough
to make my digital alarm clock
lose its dog-ear in Time.

It doesn't make sense.
The storm hasn't hit yet.

Through my bedroom window
I watch a young squirrel chase
the object of his affection in circles
up and down the trunk of a tree
their passion so fierce I can hear
the scratching sound of their claws
digging into the bark as they
do their duty to Nature
in making haste
to perform the dance
that Darwin said
only the strongest would
get to act out
before someday
raising offspring.

The thunder finally rears
its head and the first drops
of rain fall as the two gray
rodents disappear to a limb
outside my field of vision.

I smile for the little guy.
I know he'll get his, they
can never resist a good storm

and thankfully
I've had my share.

(Isn't that right
Miss Bright-Eyed
and Bushy-Tailed?)

And just as fast
as they had come
the clouds are blown off
to their eastern destination
and the sun begins to dry the yard
as life goes on as it has forever.