There is nothing as ordinary as a common squirrel. They are all over Texas. I notice them often: how cute they are and how they rush away from me. But I have never taken the time to just watch the squirrel climb through the branches. As I was walking around the path of the Alumni Center, a little (and apparently young) squirrel jumped into a small bush-like tree and began to scurry away. I kept still as not to startle him anymore than I already had. He also kept still, not wiggling his tail or jumping to move away, only staring directly into my eyes with his deep, dark, brown eyes. As I moved slightly, he began to scamper through the thin leafless branches. I had already observed that he was a young one, so he was more careful about his choice of branches. He moved to a taller tree and scrambled to the top to be out of the way of danger. Then he stopped, looked at me for what seemed to be an eternity, and then simply began to groom himself. Though he was high above me in the tree, somehow he sensed that I was not going to hurt him. He ever so gently groomed his precious little head with his front paws. What is going through this little squirrel’s mind? In The Sympathetic Imagination by Bump, it is said "As Adam Smith suggested, almost all knowledge of the inner nature and feelings of others must come through the imagination…"(85). Though science may prove that this little squirrel is of lesser intelligence, they cannot prove that he is thinking above and beyond of what instinct already provides within his genetic makeup. Maybe his thoughts include "What is this person doing? Why does she look at me as if I am some sort of stranger. I am no stranger. This is my home and I want to be comfortable here." Waller Creek is this little squirrel's home. It is hard to imagine what this little animal thinks, but it is the only way into his mind. Sitting here on the ground, at eye level I see browning vegetation (vegetation unsure of what season it is in Texas) and a low, babbling brook. As I look up I see MAN. I see buildings, people walking on the cemented roads to class, the few cars that are allowed to park on campus. But what contrasts more than the sights to me, are the sounds. Closing my eyes, I hear the wind rustling the leaves and the water flowing downstream. But I also hear machinery -- the sounds of new dwellings for the ever-growing population of this university being put into place next to Waller Creek downstream. But these sounds of industrialization do not compare to the sounds of nature. In Jones’ piece, he mentions, "There are thousands upon thousands of [student’s] on the Forty Acres, within a few minutes’ walk, but as yet only a few along the shady, limestone-littered reach of Waller Creek…"(Jones 166). This may be true, but only because no one has ever introduced it to them. The population of the university does get a chance to look at the squirrel in a different light. What does the little squirrel hear? Does he hear the machines? Does he hear the new buildings rise to the sky? Does he hear the passing student’s? Maybe. This has little meaning to him in my mind. He hears the trees rustle as he jumps from branch to branch. He hears a splash in the water when something falls into it. Life is wonderful for him. No cares, no worries. The life of a squirrel, what a life to have. I would love to have a chance to run though the trees with greatest of ease.
The Old Man and the Cypress Tree
The old man and the cypress tree
Sit together in perfect harmony.
Both depending on each other without the other knowing.
The trees’ long think trunk supplies a place of rest,
the branches, a source of shade.
The old man writes the trees’ story - what the tree has heard, has seen.
The companionship is not understood by anyone,
but the two
the old man and the cypress tree
sit together in perfect harmony.