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Colin Stewart Jones

Preparing for Hibernation

The grey squirrel doesn't seem to mind the cold. It looks almost happy as it bounds across the lawn, only stopping to gather what it can. A man walking his dog tells me they are vermin. They kill the red ones, you know. I nod more out of convenience than agreement and keep on watching the squirrel go about its business. The short stocky body and long brush of a tail mesmerises as it undulates over the grass. It is soon out of sight though. Hopefully, I'll be able to borrow some money to keep me going until next week. I wait a while before I continue walking to my friend's house. The squirrel only does what it does from its innate instincts. But I have choices. Cursing short days and necessity, my breath stings my nostrils as I inhale too sharply before I knock on the door.

hard frost –
someone just stepped
in dog shit