So this morning, there was a squirrel in my bed, nestled in between three mattresses of varying age and thickness.
Room on roof entails frequent run-ins with creātūrī non homo. The floor is littered with string and fluff that no doubt served until then as furniture in the nest of the squirrel family that exists between the blurry lines of rafter and roof. Pigeons of questionable powers of vision that fly right into windows and then sit on railing, recovering. Bats that cling to floor and mysteriously make disappear milk from saucers and then themselves. Bees that hit against lights again and again in buzzing monotone, forcing fans to be shut and windows to be slid open till they return perhaps to hive under balcony. Spiders: green gold, tiny and translucent, glittering, busy spinning, near ear. I leave out, of course, the feline and canine members of the household.
After a few hours of leaving be with multiple points of exit exposed, Bahadur Shah, courageous young son of Lady of the Sparse Tail, had not yet budged far from under the bed. Next was attempted building bridges of milk-soaked bread, almonds and raisins but this failed to inspire trust also. Bahadur Shah had meanwhile grown quite restless, moving dizzily across tabla tops, performing amateur acrobatics between computer wires, with a pit-stop in the gym bag before some rustling through newspapers.
May may well be the month of all change, it holds the key to where these feet will head next. This so planned year, surprise year, year of loss and gain, books and oscillations, shall yield some of its lessons by May. If only patience were all it took. Patience and close encounters with the curious kind.
For the attentive, Young Bahadur Shah took the long route home, the one made of towels tied on end. And all the while, five measurers of destiny, in a rare cameo appearance, glowed grimly above.
Room on roof entails frequent run-ins with creātūrī non homo. The floor is littered with string and fluff that no doubt served until then as furniture in the nest of the squirrel family that exists between the blurry lines of rafter and roof. Pigeons of questionable powers of vision that fly right into windows and then sit on railing, recovering. Bats that cling to floor and mysteriously make disappear milk from saucers and then themselves. Bees that hit against lights again and again in buzzing monotone, forcing fans to be shut and windows to be slid open till they return perhaps to hive under balcony. Spiders: green gold, tiny and translucent, glittering, busy spinning, near ear. I leave out, of course, the feline and canine members of the household.
After a few hours of leaving be with multiple points of exit exposed, Bahadur Shah, courageous young son of Lady of the Sparse Tail, had not yet budged far from under the bed. Next was attempted building bridges of milk-soaked bread, almonds and raisins but this failed to inspire trust also. Bahadur Shah had meanwhile grown quite restless, moving dizzily across tabla tops, performing amateur acrobatics between computer wires, with a pit-stop in the gym bag before some rustling through newspapers.
May may well be the month of all change, it holds the key to where these feet will head next. This so planned year, surprise year, year of loss and gain, books and oscillations, shall yield some of its lessons by May. If only patience were all it took. Patience and close encounters with the curious kind.
For the attentive, Young Bahadur Shah took the long route home, the one made of towels tied on end. And all the while, five measurers of destiny, in a rare cameo appearance, glowed grimly above.
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