If I Were a Squirrel
Conforming our minds with nature
I often sit outside on my patio and look down at the squirrels below. I watch as they scurry around, sometimes foraging for food and other times playing with other nearby squirrels. I watch as they climb up and down trees, leaping from one branch to another. And as I sit there, drinking my coffee, I think to myself, if only I were a squirrel.
If I were a squirrel, I would wake up at the crack of dawn and peak out from my drey, composed of sticks and twigs and a lining of moss for comfort. And I would breathe in the smell of wet dew dripping from the grass as I traverse down my tree, fully prepared to spend most of the day foraging for food.
Other squirrels would also be out and about, foraging for food, cheerfully throwing taunts my way. I would do my best to ignore them but would eventually give in due to my nature. So we'd chase each other, back and forth, up and down trees, leaping from one branch to another as others joined in, as is their nature.
Eventually, I might spot an acorn or overgrown fungi, and it would remind me of my growing hunger. So I'd snatch it up, still taunting my neighbors by saying, "look what I found! Finders keepers!" And they would chase me, admittedly, envious of what I found — as is their nature.
