There are two squirrels chasing each other
Across the leafless branches of the trees
In the hedgerow behind the house across the street.
Vectors of geese flying north, south, east and west
And various headings in between
On courses toward haphazard locations
Only they know.
A herd (or mob, as some call them) of whitetail
Bounding across the snow that covers the wheat stubble
In the field across from our neighborhood.
There is a small, drab-colored bird in the tree
Outside the back door
Watching the daylight lengthen,
Waiting out the winter.
Just as I am.
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