Squirrels snort spring
though estral arteries,
leaping the lengthening days,
tails backlit by sun.
Shall I care more
for the latest
manmade drama
than their tussled play,
their animal exuberance,
the heated unions
that will bring forth kits —
naked, blind, burgeoning,
beautiful — a better telling
of a better story?
Shall I bemoan my
small, ruined shoulder,
age and injury,
the long rehabilitation,
while Betelgeuse still
sparkles red in
Orion’s bright bearing,
tension holding
and holding
the perfect arc of
that timeless bow?
Meditatio Ephemera 
‘Shall I care more for the latest manmade drama than their tussled play (?).’ … Such a great question. I say the answer is no, and yet we do, day after day, to our own detriment. I love this poem, Cate, and will not watch our squirrels or look at Orion the same again. Peace to you. -Russ
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Thanks, Russ; this is a lovely appreciation. I pulled out the binoculars last night to get a better look at both the moon and Orion/Betelgeuse. I’m rehabbing from rotator cuff surgery — a painfully slow process — and turning my attention to other/more enduring truths is a great help in keeping perspective!
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Shoulders are amazing joints with all the motion they are capable of, but certainly problematic when something goes awry. My wife, Tina, has been rehabbing a shoulder issue for a while now, so we can relate. Hopefully it gets better soon.
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For Tina, too!
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