Squirrell Highway

It’s probably a mutated gene I picked up somewhere in youth.  My mom used to yell, "Come here, come look!" and I would come running down from my room, probably expecting a dragon or something equally as dramatic based on the tone of her voice.  But, no dragons, it was always a deer.  Or should I say, another deer.  Sometimes they were does, sometimes bucks, always brown and always seemingly uninterested in my family’s voyeurism.

I don’t have anyone to yell to here in my ex two-car cottage.  So, I have submitted to mom’s second action in the situation: ‘Where is the camera? I’ve got to get a picture!" 

My camera is in a sock.  I call it the case, but it provides for an easy draw, which, even on my fastest of days, is no match for the speed limit on Squirrel Highway. Squirrels are kinda brown too.  Though often I don’t get the chance to focus directly on them.  It is more likely that I see a sinuous blur or a rash of leaves settling outside my door just after a calamitous thump.  You can get my drift by looking at the picture above.  What I have captured in this picture is a typical passerby on Squirrel Highway, though, as you can see, this little monster has disguised himself as a slithering dragon to the lens of my camera.

Nonetheless, I find myself just as persistent as mom.  Every time Mr. Squirrel tutters across my roof or throws himself blindly (and with great tact) into the branches of a nearby tree, you can find me ready—camera in hand, sock at my feet—for a chance at the next great photo for my archives.  And, as soon as I live within range of a possible witness to this exposition of stealth and cunning nature, they will be sure to hear me calling.