Part 3
He had arranged his nest so he could watch the creek. Flowers bloomed and died. Birds picked at worms. Chico became familiar to him. The dog no longer barked at him but seemed eager to receive the extra attention.
A sound brought him outside. The woman was pushing a red object back and forth in the yard. She would stop, unhook the back, take it to the creek bank to shake it out, replace it and walk some more. Every few days, she did this. Should he offer to help? So he did. Using hand gestures, he offered to help her and to his amazement she accepted. He learned how she liked her yard mowed. How to empty the bag. When the batteries died, he put them on the railing where she would find them to charge.
One afternoon across the creek, a blob was just standing there. He perceived this blob was watching him. The woman was gone. Chico was safe in the house. He crawled out of his nest to make sure no one was behind him. He was alone. When he looked back in the direction of this new blob. It was gone.
The leaves were changing. A plunking sound caused him to open his eyes. Right in front of his nest, a round green thing lay on the ground. It was hard. He squeezed it. Nothing happened. What was this? The temperature was falling. More of these round things were on the ground. Some of them were soft. He picked one up, squeezing it. The shell cracked exposing a gooey, thread like brown substance. He curled his nose and his lip. Soft laughter filled his ears. “Walnuts are the worst. Your hand will be stained brown for months.” He rubbed, pulling even harder at the center to get to the goo. Rubbing it around in his hands. Once the shock of this strange texture wore off, he liked how it felt.
Squirrels were racing across the yard collecting the fallen walnuts. If they were good enough for the squirrels, they were good enough for him. The woman taught him how to crack them. But she wore gloves. His hands were already a mess. He didn’t care.
His attention was pulled across the creek; two blobs were watching him now. He disappeared inside his nest until they went away.
“Hi,” the woman was sitting on the ground, all smiles. “I have you something.” She handed him some paper and pencils of all different colors. “Use them however you like.” She placed her hand on her chest, “Jaye.”
Should he respond? What he thought his name was; was right there on the tip of his tongue. Caught in his throat. But it wouldn’t come out.
For a long time, he didn’t. The gift lay in the corner of his nest. Snow came. Cold came. The woman appeared outside. “It’s supposed to get below 0 would you like to stay in the basement?”
She showed him the space. Let him look around. To him, she seemed concerned. He would accept this gift. He wasn’t able to light a fire in this space. Canned light had to be used. It didn’t have the warmth a real fire had. But the lady was nice. He would respect her.
He only spent the coldest part of the snow in her basement. He was eager to get back to his nest. Familiarity.
Poetry & More 