Small Stone Day 18

Ahead an undulating silhouette
crosses the road swiftly
into the long grass
at the base of a tree.
I stop in hope.
Too small for a mink.
Stoat? Weasel?
A dark form moves,
starts to climb,
stops to look.
Bushy tail,
tufted ears,
rufous fur.
Our eyes meet.
Mine smile.
Hello Squirrel!


About Carol Ross

Interested in therapeutic writing.
This entry was posted in Mindful Writing, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Small Stone Day 18

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