SQUIRREL LOVE

Squirrels are fighting. This is the battle for mating. The sound of two males bumping brutally goes past the garden and permeates outside. I open the doors and peep out. Pieces of terror and fright fall into the well off her eyes from her haven near the well. This is her for sure. Isn't it the norm in her realm to mate with the strongest? Why this fear then? Is it her lover who is losing? Is it the grief of losing him? The pain of love's death? I close the doors and lock them. What could have happened? The next day, the squirrels leap playfully and chase each other. I rush to shoo the squirrels away that have gnawed through and ruined the pomegranate. Drumstick flowers drizzle in the pair's frolic. I keep looking at her longingly. At least in the next birth, I should be born as a squirrel.