“Our squirrel” is the little guy that lives in the trees right outside our window. In the fall, he had a particular routine you could almost set your watch by as he fervently collected pine cones for his winter food. He did his rounds by visiting specific trees and front yards at certain times.
His large cache up in one of the trees is now depleted. We saw him on cold sunny days through the winter, sitting in an evergreen, nibbling away. Outside, the sidewalk below was littered with bits of pine cone waste.
During a cold spell in February, our squirrel hid somewhere. When the weather finally warmed, I saw him, sitting on his branch, munching.
I am not a poet by any stretch of the imagination, and know virtually nothing about the craft. But I do write poems sporadically for fun. Here is the poem Our Squirrel.