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!

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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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