I Am a Writer
I accidentally wrote three pages about some birds and a Squirrel
The Fool and the Vigilant (5/8)
For many days I have silently watched
As the sun continued her anxious circling
From the plains of Colorado toward her mountains
Lending her light to me below
But one thing remains increasingly curious;
Between all the comings and goings
All the routine and unremarkable:
I have observed under the sun
A pair of crows and a starving squirrel
They patrol their skies
One to the East, the other west
Tolerating the geese and warding off the hawk
Carefully they watch, intentionally they move
They make calculated movements
With precision they come and go
There is no deviation to their routine
Except on account of the fool
He comes out at what he considers opportune times
When the crows are perhaps occupied by the hawk
He bounds across the pavement
Yearning for the crows’ nest
Yet the fool fails to notice
The nest is not where he assumes
Even if he reached the tree he pursues
He would remain unsatisfied
The pair have deceived the fool
Perhaps as a cruel joke or means of survival
Safeguarding what precious resources they have
To prolong their own lives under the sun
But with what strength does he scavenge?
He rests and gnaws the bark of a dead tree!
His fur is matted, his tail is tattered
By the beaks of his adversaries
Why does he remain nearby?
Surely he has noticed
The way the hawk hovers above?
Surely his desperation has dulled his senses
There is no strategy to this creature
He does not hide in shadows
He does not attempt to camouflage his form
He moves in a straight line for the decoy
He charges in vain
Always to be attacked of the Crows
Dried blood stains his patchy fur, he doesn’t fight back
For experience has not yet graced his mind
I understand the foolishness of the scavenger
That it will be dominated by the vigilant
The discerning will overcome the inexperienced
But there is one thing I do not understand
Does the Lord not provide for the scavenger?
Does the spirit of God not guide its instinct?
Every day the scavenger grows weaker
Spurned on by its hunger; does he know he will die?
The carcass of the fool
Will sustain the offspring of the vigilant
This seems to be certain;
Cruel, perhaps, yet certain
For the fool fights fiercely to survive
Yet because of... what? Stupidity? Luck?
... his bones reveal themselves ever more
With each patrol of the Sun
Yet the wise rise up on the turning of the wind
With ease they glide about and frustrate the fool
Without effort they return to their young with food
As the fool approaches oblivion
Together with the sun I have seen this thing
Perhaps some sort of parable for the inexperienced,
A shadow thrown against the wall of the cave
To divert one’s attention from their own predicament
Against the ever quickening march of time.
The Fool and the Vigilant (5/8)
For many days I have silently watched
As the sun continued her anxious circling
From the plains of Colorado toward her mountains
Lending her light to me below
But one thing remains increasingly curious;
Between all the comings and goings
All the routine and unremarkable:
I have observed under the sun
A pair of crows and a starving squirrel
They patrol their skies
One to the East, the other west
Tolerating the geese and warding off the hawk
Carefully they watch, intentionally they move
They make calculated movements
With precision they come and go
There is no deviation to their routine
Except on account of the fool
He comes out at what he considers opportune times
When the crows are perhaps occupied by the hawk
He bounds across the pavement
Yearning for the crows’ nest
Yet the fool fails to notice
The nest is not where he assumes
Even if he reached the tree he pursues
He would remain unsatisfied
The pair have deceived the fool
Perhaps as a cruel joke or means of survival
Safeguarding what precious resources they have
To prolong their own lives under the sun
But with what strength does he scavenge?
He rests and gnaws the bark of a dead tree!
His fur is matted, his tail is tattered
By the beaks of his adversaries
Why does he remain nearby?
Surely he has noticed
The way the hawk hovers above?
Surely his desperation has dulled his senses
There is no strategy to this creature
He does not hide in shadows
He does not attempt to camouflage his form
He moves in a straight line for the decoy
He charges in vain
Always to be attacked of the Crows
Dried blood stains his patchy fur, he doesn’t fight back
For experience has not yet graced his mind
I understand the foolishness of the scavenger
That it will be dominated by the vigilant
The discerning will overcome the inexperienced
But there is one thing I do not understand
Does the Lord not provide for the scavenger?
Does the spirit of God not guide its instinct?
Every day the scavenger grows weaker
Spurned on by its hunger; does he know he will die?
The carcass of the fool
Will sustain the offspring of the vigilant
This seems to be certain;
Cruel, perhaps, yet certain
For the fool fights fiercely to survive
Yet because of... what? Stupidity? Luck?
... his bones reveal themselves ever more
With each patrol of the Sun
Yet the wise rise up on the turning of the wind
With ease they glide about and frustrate the fool
Without effort they return to their young with food
As the fool approaches oblivion
Together with the sun I have seen this thing
Perhaps some sort of parable for the inexperienced,
A shadow thrown against the wall of the cave
To divert one’s attention from their own predicament
Against the ever quickening march of time.
