Flower

Humanity,

can you stop

being so aggressive with your architecture?

I have to eat something soon, and

what good is my adventurous, fighting spirit,

with a paw caught in this chain-link fence?

Last year,

a chipmunk named Flower

was kind enough

to show me to the

strawberries.

She smiled at me as we munched on them together.

And when a cool breeze came up,

I huddled closer to her, my red tail curled around both of us.

I know I am, once again, waxing poetry over this beautiful grassy field —

but what good is the sunrise?

Every day seems just like the last.

As the stars begin to fade, I think about

everyone and everything I have ever loved.

With a deep breath in, and out, into the birds waking up,

into the flowers, into cool, thin, but promising air,

I loosen the vines, a rusty link breaks, and I pull my leg free.

I am a bit scratched.

Forgiveness is not

essential to functioning,

it seems. As I lick my wounds,

I hear my mother

approaching.

I turn my head back to smile at Flower,

who is now running through the

small patches of red berries and green leaves.

Of course, she is running in the other direction.

I guess I knew this would happen.

Most of the time, instinct overtakes us.

She stops to smell one of the white and pink

strawberry flowers. She bites it off and carries it away in her mouth.

She likes to save these things.

I’ll introduce you, next time.