Outside my Window

      by Laurie Lee Didesch

The squirrels dig for acorns like cats that claw the carpet. They search at random, unable
to recall where they hid their stores. In this, they are like humans who live with purpose 
but know not what will come to pass. The robins fan across the lawn. They dunk their 
heads as if bobbing for apples. It is late autumn. The witches on the Square circle their 
cauldron. They too scour for worms. But mostly, they stir up gossip. Their barbs sting
 
like the tails of scorpions. Their leader is Black in name and deeds. Happily, they scatter 
on the wind like shriveled up leaves. Their buggy stew runs across the lawn to loud caws 
of delight. The birds arrive daily in the late afternoon. Shadows attend to them like loyal 
servants. The robins stay for the winter; the cardinals no longer reign over the snowcaps. 
The birds come when the circadian rhythm calls for a nap or demitasse of espresso. The 

indoor cats watch with nonchalance, but they extend their claws as feathers pass through 
their subconscious thoughts. The birds visit an hour and then depart. At dusk, deer move 
along the low cut bushes; needles hang from their gums like toothpicks. By five, the hags 
have lost their vigor. Those remaining fade into the night. A white witch appears to bless 
those who abide by her creed: those who believe one spirit inhabits all living creatures.