Squirrel

Deep into a self-doubt monologue while walking along a trail last week, I came upon a struggling squirrel- it was stopped on the parched earth, enduring convulsions. I lowered myself to inspect its condition and the eyes of this squirrel pierced my own with the content of the look plunging straight to my saddened heart, conveying, “Yes, I’m dying, and I don’t know why.”

An approaching woman meandering along the trail, watched me squatting next to this furry creature and although she did not ask, I informed her,

“Poor thing, must have eaten rat poison or the chemicals I saw them spraying this morning.”

The squirrel shuddered and made a vain attempt to stand-it flopped to its right. The lady glanced at it, shrugged her shoulders, and continued her walk.

A jogger approached, but I didn’t bother to inform him of the squirrel’s travails because he was watching it, but not inclined to pause on his own accord.

I placed the squirrel in the underbrush and continued walking with a new self-doubt topic, “What is wrong with me that I care about the emotional plight of a rodent?”

I resolved my question a mere ten feet later, “I don’t know what is wrong with my emotions, but I prefer it to vacuity.”