A Visit with Tony the Squirrel

This afternoon, I stepped outside to find Tony the Squirrel sitting at the end of our front walkway. He froze, then hopped to greet me—one cautious bounce closer to me at a time. It took a minute or two. I didn’t move, only whispered. “Hello, Tony. Happy New Year. Thanks for coming to visit. That’s it. Keep coming. I’m safe.”

This time of year, Tony, an Eastern Gray Squirrel, is a Squishmallow in the making, light gray with patches of reddish brown on his back, the top of his head, and the tips of his paws. His eyes are ever-imploring black beads. The last time I saw him, he hopped up on a rock in front of our house as my family pulled up in our car. He stood and waited to greet us as we made our way into the house. He’s the kind of neighbor who takes the time to say, “Hello.”

Today, he hopped right up to my feet. I realized he could bite if he wanted and imagined him suddenly latching onto my leg. But I wasn’t afraid. Tony’s been around long enough to prove himself, long enough to earn a name known by all the neighbors. He peered an inquisition, looking at my face, then to my hands. He tapped to the right, to the left. Tilted his head. Chattered softly. I told him I had no food—just an empty Walmart grocery bag. After all, I wasn’t expecting him. Tony seemed to accept this truth, turned, and hopped back the way he came, finally disappearing under the bridge at the walkway’s end.

Come visit again, Tony.

Photo by Janet, taken on an earlier visit from our friend

Comments

No Worry Anymore

I don’t want to worry anymore. Don’t want to fear the phone call, the bill, arriving unexpected by mail, the month left at the end of the money, the unseen predator, the crisis not mine, but mine to fix or forever wonder if my two mites could have made the difference after all, at last, the natural disaster, the unnatural disaster caused by consequences unintended, unforeseen. I don’t want to worry about any thing, any more. And so, I give all of this worry unworthy to You Who sees only and all real threats to me coming, no surprise, no problem, only gracious provision preprepared . * * * I wrote this post for the Five-Minute Friday Link-Up. Click here to read other writers' posts on today's prompt: anymore . Photo by Artem Kovalev on Unsplash

God's New Work

Stories of how God has helped others realize their dearest dreams encourage me as I reach for a new dream. I am not going to name it because I am still striving to define it, but I’ll write more about that in a future post. For now, I will tell you that it has to do with reaching some of my writing goals. A few days ago, though, I encountered one of those success stories of God helping one of His children realize a long-held dream. I discovered the story because I had seen reviews of a new author’s first novel online a few years ago and added it to my TBR. Then, a few weeks ago, I saw reviews of her second novel which reminded me I still want to read the first. I moved that novel to the top of my list and then looked to see if our library had it. Somewhere in the process, I discovered that before she wrote either of these books, this author wrote a book on prayer. * I purchased it to read right away—and did so! I was surprised to discover that the author had self-published this 38-...

A New Box of Bees: My Close Encounter

My son is a novice beekeeper. He trained for several months under a mentor. Then in May, he purchased his first box of bees, which has already grown into three boxes of bees, two in the process of raising their own queens. Justin and his family were able to taste the honeycomb and the nectar within just a few weeks of receiving their hive. This past weekend, my granddaughter proudly presented me with a jar of honey she and my son collected. Locally grown has taken on a whole new meaning: honey from hives thriving in my son’s backyard. Last month, my son and granddaughter took me to meet the bees for the first time. I had already seen pictures of my three-year-old grandson letting bees walk on his hand. My son had talked of petting them and assured me the bees had to be seriously provoked to sting. After all, bees want to make honey. If they sting someone, they die. Armed with this knowledge and led by my son, I approached the hives with what felt like a surprising amount of confidenc...

Janet Benlien Reeves

Search This Blog