Grey Squirrels

I saw a squirrel in the gardens of Conyngham Hall on Sunday afternoon.

I had just walked along a root gnarled earthy path lined with whispering majesties and lit with leaf dappled light. Every so often I would have to weave my way through clusters of chattering mosquitos. They looked like fairies. Lighter than air, wholly unexcited by earthy objects or affairs. Golden brown with voices slightly out of adult hearing register.

I had come up to a hill shaded by over-sized oaks trees looking down on the World's End Pub. I had found 3 or 4 intact Dandelion parachutes and was onto wishing he loved me a second time when the periphery of my vision saw grey lightening.

Grey squirrels move like supersonic weightless caterpillars. I would like a physiologist to explain to me how it can be so. Grey squirrels move like caterpillars on speed.

But I've learnt that no-one likes grey squirrels here. I was almost relieved because once I had gotten close enough to really check them out I found their little faces to be really mean, and I liked them less. Now i know they are American imports eating the local Red Squirrels out of house and home. I don't like them at all now. In a quiet moment however, I might admit to close friends that I admire the greys for theis physical grace and speed.