Nesting

We were walking to
nowhere.
There happened to be a tree
with a squirrel
we passed by.
Outside was this
anticipation for fall and
the promise of winter.

You, me, and the squirrel knew
if there was ever a time
to build a nest,
to seek refuge from merciless cold
wind buffeting us,
this was the time.

In its eager mouth
and busy claws,
the squirrel gathered twigs.
Each twig, a triumphant flag
hoisted in the wind,
not regretting, but celebrating the wind:
the squirrel put them precisely
together.

I imagine you put your twigs
precisely together,
building a nest that only have room for
one.

Next fall,
far apart,
we'll still watch squirrels build their nests;
perhaps a gulf,
perhaps a continent between us
that we'll not mention out of kindness.