It’s icy outside my window.
The last yellow leaves linger on the boughs.
They gently surrender to gravity,
Wafting silently down
To the ground where they greet their brothers.
Earlier, two squirrels were quarreling,
Wrestling and chasing.
Now, the twins twist and wrap
Each other in a braided embrace.
Is this love?
Some kind of sweet affection?
Perhaps a rodent romance
Amid the yellow leaves of fall?
David Hanig 