A squirrel, some chaos, and the circle of life

Oh, and romanticizing—delighting in—the little things. Always.

The squirrel surprises us all when it falls to the ground just steps away from my niece. We’ve spent the last few minutes looking up into the branches of a large maple, hoping for a glimpse of the creature.

While Olive shouts —“Hey, squirrel! Come here!”—I ask Sean if he thinks it’s okay. I don’t expect him to know more about wildlife injuries than I do (which is nothing, really) but it’s habit to share all my questions with him.

“They’ve got to be used to it, right?” he replies. “I mean, that has to happen all the time.”

“And it climbed back up, which must be a good sign. But what if there’s internal damage? That was such a loud thud.”

We don’t have much more time to contemplate the squirrel’s fate. Olive is already sprinting toward the next thing, and we run after her, no longer Haley and Sean but Auntie and Unc.

I throw myself into the day—and it is a wonderful day—but later I can’t help but think: I kind of relate to the squirrel.