The Squirrel and I

The Squirrel and I are so close and yet so far away.
We are living in this same world,
But in fact, we are not.
As we both look in the same direction,
I wonder if he is seeing what I am seeing.
Is he seeing the same colors?
What is he looking for?
Does he know I am here?
We are not living in the same world.
I am inside and he is out there.
The wind blows his tail as he sits and waits.
His senses are much more alive than mine,
In the bitter cold wind from the ocean.
His thoughts are probably only about,
The next source of food,
The potential of a predator.
I envy his grace and agility,
As he leaps from branch to branch,
I envy his freedom,
His living in the very present.
While I sit in safety and think,
Until my brain is overloaded,
By why and who and this and that,
Then and now,
But mostly then.
Then as in the past,
Then as in the future,
And not very much now.
He is gone.
I would like to thank him,
For being here with me,
But he is not.
He is on to new things.
Maybe climbing another tree,
Or soon to meet death with an
Oncoming car,
But to me he will ever be,
Grey fur blowing in the wind,
and Grace flowing up and then down the tree.