9.24.15 Small things

I was washing dishes in the sink the other day, when I caught sight of the smallest chipmunk imaginable, up a few feet in the gnarled branches of the Mountain Laurel out the back window. 

The kitchen window is level with the ground, so the small one was at about eye level , and sitting far up there. Looking about tentatively , then nibbling upon the growing mosses or insects in the bark. 

So I stood there, transfixed by the tiny one. Perfect black stripes down the back, miniature tail, small inquisitive eyes, smallest ears with tufts. 

I have been watching the Chipmunks there, with their burrow, coming out and cleaning about, feeding, Busily going here and there. I'm guessing the young one was a second litter, because it's mid to late September, and it's so small! 

Then today, I was resting in the bedroom, lying about recharging, reading, getting ready for lunch, as the warm September sunlight baked happily nestled cats in windowsills, the breeze blowing through the room.

When all of a sudden, there arose such a clatter. I know. Not Santa Claus. So I crept slowly to the foot of the bed, then onto the floor and over to the window, stealthily as all get out, and there down below on the branch was a tiniest of tiny baby chipmunk again.
Who knows, sibling or same little explorative creature.

I stay there motionless, gazing at them, and their small beauty. Talking to them in a low soft voice, while they look up at me with curiosity.

Of course, I don't know if they are aware of their great great great great great great grandparents, who, 10 years ago when we first moved here, used to perch in the mountain laurel by that window, and watch me carefully, as I worked on clients in this very room. 
I would tell the client, and they would look up so slowly, and see the small one right outside the open window, so curious, just watching as the sun shone upon the windowsills, as the breeze blew through, just 10 years of my life and your life ago.

The last tenant of the cottage next-door had a delicious cat named Lotus, who nonetheless was a rabid killer. She just killed animals and birds all day long, leaving a trail of them outside her house. Until I had to tell her person she really needed to stay inside all the time.
Since then, I suspect my chipmunk population has exploded many times over! And the avian population has done better too.

All the same, I'm perched there at the sun warmed windowsill, looking down at that tiny chipmunk, and I realize that all the ruckus is because there's a small bird next to them, scolding them. I'm not certain what they're saying. 

"What are you doing up above the ground, in our realm?" Or maybe " Dint you remember the agreement we made last week, where this Bush is mine?"

I don't know. I have no idea, but they were certainly talking to this chipmunk in an agitated manner, unhappy with the chipmunk there.

Who knows, maybe there are neighborhood rules, and the chipmunk was disavowing all of them.

Any rate, I think the survival instincts of the small creature came to, they took one last look at me, and scooted away with a barrage of chirping of their own, the small bird then down and looking happy with the results. 

So I left, stood and stretched, went to reheat some more of that pea soup, and settled back into a restoring day.