Joy Harjo said The young banana tree is making poetry; I see how it translates the wind. I thought of it this morning as I watched a squirrel bound across the street and make its way to the groomed lawn, stopping here and there to dig with its tiny claws.
How deftly it moves, how quick and sure, then pauses, so still, full with attention. No wasted movements. So unlike us.
Have you ever marveled at its magnificent tail? How it’s bigger than the rest of its body, how it moves in sync, in perfect counterbalance, jutting into the air like a tightrope walker’s stick?
It pounces along, riding the waves of an unseen world, following currents low to the ground, an undulating tail tracing an ancient trail. Feeling the river that once flowed through here.
Knowing so much.
