The Culprit
Who makes this mess upon my deck?
Each day I sweep and sweep and sweep.
Pinecones opened one by one,
Scales fall while inside hidden seeds
Make tasty treats for ungrateful guests.
It is MY tree after all.
He was not invited to my Ponderosa table of bounty.
She does not think to clean up after the feast.
Who dares to trespass in my green-needled canopy?
And shirk all responsibilities, daily littering my porch?
Today I am vigilant, on guard
To find the thoughtless culprit.
During my watch I spy a flock of flitting pygmy nuthatches
Hanging on twigs and needles as they peck at miniscule insects.
They make me smile as they hop and dart in endless acrobatics.
The bandit springs from nowhere
Scurrying, with lush furry tail holding balance, over thin railing.
Its sleek brown pelt taut over rippling muscles
As it leaps from limb to limb to find a tasty morsel.
Perches, mocking me behind the glass,
And then defrocking a cone in plain view,
Holding it in two paws, crackling with sharp teeth
To find the delicacy within.
Scales scatter this way and that, efficient, effective.
Oblivious to my eyes wide with surprise, holding my breath.
Hoping not to scare this tiny beast. Why don’t I open the door?
Chase away this critter?
Put out poison bait?
No! My vigil entertained me.
Pygmy nuthatches were my afternoon treat.
Glossy-haired squirrel, my visual feast.
This tree, a bountiful banquet for so many and for my pleasure.
I guess I’ll sweep and sweep and sweep.