A squirrel runs up the power-line
on a blustery weekday morning.
I look up and watch him
as he scuttles along,
the wind swaying his black tightrope
as he moves along, paw after paw.
He stops for a moment and looks at me,
then continues on his way.
I wonder if he can feel
the electricity between his toes,
or if these thin dark bridges mean nothing to him.
Does he know how close he is to death?
Do we know?