The Squirrel

Two boys running through a wood

trampling late autumn leaves

giving chase to a grey squirrel

descended from a tree

and now within tantalizing reach.

The leader hurdles a fallen bough

and lands amidst a briar

scratching bare knees,

unwieldy wellingtons struggling

to maintain traction on the muddy path.

Running again

the squirrel just ahead,

vision narrowing and a focused rush of sound

between his ears, his sweaty hand

closes on the rodent’s tail.

In this unexpected moment of triumph

the despairing animal turns,

lets out a high pitched scream

and fixes the boy with an indignant look.

At once he loosens his grip

and watches, ashamed, as the squirrel

scurries to the safety of a nearby tree.

Ashamed, because his feelings are unprepared

for this moment.

Years later, he would remember that look.

That sound. In a far off land, in a different wood.

As he slipped the safety catch

and took the first pressure on the trigger.

22^nd XII 2009