nuts_to_you raze i guess it all started about two weeks ago. i left a few walnuts on a pile of cement blocks jerry set down on top of the decommissioned old fire pit in the back yard a million years ago. just to see what would happen. what happened was sammy found them and made them disappear. he was the first grey squirrel i'd ever seen around these parts. he was skittish for a bit. but he kept coming back. now he runs when i call his name. if i notice his tail poking out of a crack in the bottom of the fence, i'll say, "i see you, sammy squirrel junior." and he'll run up the other side and sit on the top rail so we can study each other's faces. cautious charlie came next. once he knew it was safe, he brought charlene with him. or maybe she invited herself. you'll get a different story depending on who you ask. she has brown wings on her belly and a cleft in the helix of her right ear. one morning, when we were still getting to know each other, she scaled the back door and tried to turn the brass knob so she could get inside. she's a little more patient now. she knows breakfast will be served by 10:30 at the latest. you haven't lived until you've seen her eat a cherry tomato. nothing that grows out of the ground has ever died a messier, more glorious death. one of sammy's friends followed him here too. the dark markings on his face made me think of my park pal brownie. i named him chocolat, after a movie i've never seen. thunderbolt came late to the party. i think some of the others live somewhere behind my house. not on my property, but close. charlie lives across the street. thunderbolt does too. he's the one i always used to look for, before i knew what to call him. his tiger-like tail is streaked with red. he has this pensive, deliberate way of walking. watching him move makes he happy. i don't know why. it just does. i never thought i'd earn his trust. but i think i'm getting there. sometimes he's the first one here. sometimes he's the last to show up. he likes his quiet as much as i do. last week we glared at some roofers a few houses over and swore at them under our breath. i can't remember where the tiny glass bowl i chose for a water_dish came from. i think it might have been the lid of some ornate bottle of liquor no one ever touched. all i know is it's for this now. for them. you ever see a squirrel drink water? me neither, until right around my birthday. they're like tiny cats. they lap up what they can catch with their tongues and let the rest dribble down their chins and onto the dirt. because they know the soil needs it as much as they do. i wash the bowl and fill it with fresh water every day. like mary used to do for the sparrows that frequented her bird bath. they get bottled_water. i don't trust the stuff that comes out of the tap. there have been other backyard_visitors. i've seen two cardinals. a married couple. you can tell by the way they carry themselves. some mornings a blue_jay visits. he isn't greedy. he sings what he has to say, takes a single walnut, nods his thanks, and flies away. i've seen starlings and satin moths. furtive flies and ornate spiderwebs. i've heard the_music_of_crickets and the rhythmic sighs of cicadas. but most days it's just these five friends. some nights charlie heads over for an after-dinner snack and a drink around 5:30. i used to toss him peanuts from my front porch. he kept his distance. he didn't know me then. now i watch him cross the street and shuffle down my driveway. when he's foraging, he darts around like he's scared of something. it's different when he's on his way to see me. he relaxes. he knows he's coming to a good place. and he knows he'll always find what he needs here. i was worried about all of them after monday's brief but brutal storm. that fucker tore the limbs loose from massive maples and elms. it took a little off the top of my struggling sapling too. i saw sammy and charlie yesterday before feeding time. sammy stood on top of the gate and gave me a hard stare from across the yard. i think he was checking up on me. there was a dead black squirrel in the middle of the road two blocks from home. "please don't let that be one of mine," i said. by lunchtime, everyone was here. still hungry. still whole. sometimes, when the sun's getting ready to go away for a while, thunderbolt flops down on stephanie's fence instead of mine. i'll look at him through my kitchen window. if he sees me, he'll look back. i say the same thing to him i say to all the others every night. "goodnight, my friend, wherever your tree may be." 220831 ... epitome of incomprehensibility (I was immersed in the details here. This reads like a story, or like one of those personal essays that makes you think "This is too creative to be called an essay, because essays are those traumatic things I never finish on time" and by you I mean me. Plus I'm in awe of your squirrel-whispering abilities.) 220831 ... raze (that's really kind of you to say. and would you believe i wasn't really a squirrel person until the pandemic closed the mall and forced me to start walking outside? i thought they were neat little characters, but i never paid too much attention to them until jimmy and newsom insisted on befriending me. they've taught me so much about being present and appreciating the_little_things. if i can capture a bit of that in what i write about them, i'll feel like i've done something right.) 220901 what's it to you? who go blather from