A plaintive cry draws me to the window:
a baby blue jay hops along my driveway.
It must have fallen,
or been pushed from its nest,
or maybe ventured out on its own.
I watch it bounce, bounce, flit,
bounce, flit again, testing new wings,
shuttling up to the wood pile,
a three-foot flight.

A squirrel, meanwhile,
shimmies down a nearby tree,
minding its own business,
scrabbling on the ground for dinner.
Suddenly the alarm sounds:
mother and father jay scream from above,
and swoop down, dive-bombing the squirrel.
Blue flashes lead with black beaks,
and one nips the squirrel’s left flank.

Frozen with terror,
it hugs the corrugated bark,
almost camouflaged, gray-brown.
For several minutes,
it moves not a single muscle;
I start to wonder if it’s even alive.
Baby has fluttered out of sight,
and the parents’ calls recede,
but the squirrel doesn’t move again
until my neighbor bangs a trash can.

It scuttles back up the tree,
perches on a branch, and chatters,
scolding the absent jays,
and the world in general,
for unpredictable cruelty.

06/28/2002

Posted on 06/28/2002
Copyright © 2026 Bruce W Niedt