Rockhollow: Stay a While

I don't smoke cigars
anymore,
I could use one now,
perched on the top step, with coffee,
watching a squirrel on a telephone wire,
year on year on year,
magpie flies, sparrow flits,
it's all such hallucination green, blue, white,
and my pride is lodged, heavy as a walnut in my throat.
Somewhere there's somewhere better
but I can't think of it now,
where I am too old and too young
to know what I know - to live as I've lived.
The squirrel has climbed down, across the fencing, we're eye to eye now, unexpectedly, he's a statue on an old piece of driftwood we saved from Heybrook
some years ago.
"Hello little Sir,
I don't think you want to come this way, do you? Go on, back the way you came."
He obliges, the cat comes to sit beside me, I sup coffee
reminded of how
purely excellent
this life is.