Kimmydonn Week 76: Reflection

Kimmydonn
Sunday


Picture 1


Picture 2

Kimmydonn's Choice: Picture 2

Title: Reflection

I pulled another cone from the tip of the conifer and began pulling the scales away one by one, shoving the plump seed I found in my mouth and letting the scale fall to the ground. A whisking sound accompanied the drifting litter as it brushed branches and needles.

A chickadee cried, making me freeze. Three warning trills? Something big and bad was headed this way. I rushed for my stash, dropping the cone. Running along a thin top-branch, I almost hesitated as the tip bent and dipped. Kicking myself mentally, I jumped, coasting down slightly, but easily catching a branch from the next tree in my paws and running down the trunk of the tree to the hole I’d found among its roots.

It had been two years since that squirrel had cursed me. In the first year I fell a lot from fear of heights. I was starting to move past that. I still didn’t know what magic had passed my soul through the camera lens and exchanged it with the squirrel’s. He’d been thrilled. I heard my own laugh, loud and clear as my body rose to standing, towering over me, and turned to leave. He had my life now — my wife, my job, my car. How did he know how to take it? Just by watching? We were close to the city here.

So why did that chickadee cry? A hare jumped through the clearing and I started chittering, cursing the stupid bird that had me jumping at rabbits. There were few predators active now that the snow had fallen. I’d be less active as the weeks passed, too, but there were still many cones I could stash.

My chittering echoed, and I stopped complaining, listening for the oddness I’d heard in it. A soft slushy sound. Then there was a growl, a huff, and snow spraying toward me. I dove into my hole and shivered in fear. Whatever it was, it was large.

I recognized barking and wondered if it could be just a dog. Peeking out of my hole, I saw them. They weren’t dogs but wolves, although they played the way dogs would. I tried to slow my normally rapid heart and fight the flight response that was so strong in this tiny body. I wouldn’t be of interest to them, and they were beautiful to watch.

So beautiful, I didn’t hear the hawk cry until the last moment.