A humid, still morning.
Dreamy and unbelievably quiet. All the tumult, all the brute churnings of the world absent, almost unimaginable in this moment. Just shafts of sunlight falling through the trees into the backyard. Like endless, benevolent spirits. Pillars in a cathedral. Occasionally a bird makes some gentle sound, and then above the fence, a few houses over, Jones spots the water from a sprinkler arcing back and forth, back and forth. Some languid and easy creature, sparkling like candy, waving him over to play. He wants to go and dance within it.
But instead, I throw a handful of shelled nuts into the yard. Branches in the trees begin to rustle, begin to swing. A network of transportation that exists above comes to life. Squirrels running along the hydro wires, launching themselves from one tree to the next, the sound of squirrels scrabbling up fences and down trunks. Suddenly, there must be a dozen of them, maybe more. They come like a nightmare, they come like a dream. They are everywhere around us, and Jones is a raw expression of joy. The squirrels zipping around grabbing nuts, Jones squealing with delight, every once in awhile chasing them with a little net, and then after a few minutes of this, they just vanish– the stillness of the morning abruptly returned. Jones and I smiling at one another, happy. The world quiet and weightless around us.
