The Squirrel in Midwinter

My Small Comfort

In the deep cold of midwinter,

where has my little squirrel gone?

The red squirrel that lives beneath the ground

stays hidden,

as if dead to the world,

never coming outside —

perhaps as cold as I am.

Your nest inside a hollow tree,

softly made of leaves and twigs,

a simple home gifted by nature.

There, with your back to snow and wind,

you must be enduring the cold

quietly, bravely.

Even as I walk my usual path,

I no longer see you.

Before the cold arrived,

I tossed you nuts,

but instead of eating them,

you buried them —

right before my eyes.

Those hidden acorns,

the seeds and nuts you stored away.

I often wondered:

when snow covers everything,

can you still find them?

They say squirrels have good memories,

but can you really remember

hundreds of hidden places?

In this lonely winter,

on a walk without you,

I find myself missing you deeply.

You do not hibernate,

yet you curl your body tight,

wrap yourself in your tail,

and rest —

calm and patient.

Small as you are,

my wool coat even has a pocket

big enough to carry you.

I could take you with me…

but you would never come, would you?

So I stand there,

childishly,

staring up at the tall tree trunk

where you once were,

saying nothing.

*these are my own paintings *