Treasured Morsel

I sat at my table on Friday and watched this industrious squirrel take her peanuts so generously supplied by the neighbor and bury them deep into the freshly dispersed mulch.  I smiled at the time because she buried one so deep that all you could see was her tail swishing purposefully back and forth as she made sure that “no one” would ever find it.  The funny thing is that I thought squirrels only did such things in preparation for winter, but I guess when the supplies are plentiful you secure them for a day when in want.

Today is Tuesday.  It is raining, heavily at times, and one of the squirrels is sitting on my step wondering if I am going to bless her with morsels since evidently the neighbor is not home.  I stopped that habit a few months ago, for good reasons.  So, a few minutes later, I look out and she is digging deep into the mulch, scrambling, her tail posturing and balancing, like a detector, honing, refining her search.  She finds one of the peanuts, runs off to a stump, and proceeds to enjoy.

There was an interesting integrative thought that came to me as I watched her find her morsel.  It is a day of heaviness and gloom.  Sometimes days like this feel wonderfully inspiring, other times, like today, they aren’t.  I was sitting here, kind of feeling heavy hearted, not knowing where to start, or what to do, and I watched her dig deep to find a treasure that was put away for such a time, and was inspired to do the same.  I went to my book shelf, dug deep, searched, and perused, and pulled out Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends, and read.  Like the peanut, I took the book, curled up in the chair and enjoyed some timely morsels.  I thought I would share one with you.  I hope you find a timely hidden morsel of enjoyment today in whatever you are doing. 

Rain

I opened my eyes

And looked up at the rain,

And it dripped in my head

And flowed into my brain,

And all that I hear as I lie in my bed

Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

 

I step very softly,

I walk very slow,

I can’t do a handstand-

I might overflow,

So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said-

I’m just not the same since there’s rain in my head.    

(Shel Siverstein – copyrighted 1974, Harper Collins)