Squirrel

And yes!
It is there,
the pearl of the world, the treasure
lies on the grass.

While he scampers over from the shadow of the trunk,
it is taken away.

He stops,
head cocked,
tail quizzical.

Yet
No disappointment floods his mind,
for it has always been the rule of life
to grab all the acorns you can
and if your fellow squirrel reaches it first,
it is his.

No argument.

Calm,
indifferent,
acceptant,

The little creature moves on.

And he scales the mountain of birdbath in the front lawn,
then, drinking,
in hurried gulps,
swallowing air along with his drink,
like a hungry Wall Street businessman drinking his coffee on break.

Satiated, he leaps,
tiny feet sprawled, claws extended to grip
as the ground draws near...

And yes!
There it is,
the gem, shining,
framed by light through the trees.

He scampers,
starting,
stopping,
starting,

no friends, no enemies in sight.

Victory!
Joy!
The treasure is his!

He pauses

momentarily.