The sun is out this morning, beautiful and crisp outside, all the fallen leaves crystal with a rime of ice. The streets are mostly empty, only two cars parked on my block, and almost no traffic. Irony is bitter sometimes.
One squirrel was standing by the side of the road. This always makes me nervous, so I looked to see what she was doing. Another squirrel was on the road beside her, lying down.
I hurried outside to see if he was injured but able to be saved. I didn't want to see him run over if that was possible. Clad in slippers and PJs, I reached the fallen squirrel and saw the blood and injury and realized my yard has one fewer squirrels. I lifted him, still warm, blood still bright against the pavement, and set him down beside the tree near where he had fallen.
I returned inside to hear a preacher giving a funeral ceremony for Gerald Ford and looked outside to see a tiny little squirrel moving toward the dead one. It moved hesitantly, tail twitching, and after a few seconds hopped away. Do squirrel families remember their moms and dads? How do they feel when they lose a parent?
What a sad way to start the day.