May 7: Morning sun and squirrel tails

Mornings are wonderful when I don't have to be anywhere. My favorite thing is to camp out on the couch, drink tea and watch the sun move across the balcony. It's north-facing and there are tall trees on either side, thicker to the west, so the only direct sunlight for most of the year comes in the morning. I imagine the plants drinking it up, basking like lizards on a rock, their little chloroplasts buzzing with activity. (Wow, that was too many wildly different metaphors in one sentence.) Often there's wildlife activity as well: a bright red cardinal or a few tufted titmice coming for the birdfeeder, a hummingbird, or wasps waking up and drifting around in the sun.


Plagiomnium affine by Kristian Peters, from Wikimedia Commons

This morning there was a squirrel. I first noticed her standing a few inches from the sliding glass door, up on her hind legs, her front paws curled against her chest. She was looking through the window, checking for danger. Once she felt safe, she moved around the balcony, poking between watering cans and around pots, finding the last morsels of birdseed the doves hadn't already cleaned up. With the sun behind her, I could see through her tail. Squirrels are famous for their bushy tails, but when you see one against the sun, they're mostly air: the actual tail, the bones and skin, is cord-thin and fragile looking. I suppose if it were otherwise, the squirrel would overbalance and be falling backwards all the time.



I'm so jealous of my cat. He gets to enjoy this every day!