And now the Old Squirrel finds her rooted mate’s humble ear. It is like a cave wherein she has stored so many sweet nothings and somethings for... oh countless seasons.
She wonders which ones he remembers. It is almost comforting to imagine that her whispers leave out the other side. She sees him bow his smiling craggy face down so his lobe meets her lips. The way he does this- one would think he is smaller than her. “More secrets!”, her old mate whispers.
What a delight to tell them amid the stillness of the park and the spritely glow of the streetlamps. The squirrel rests an assuring hand on his hurting arm. She knows her old fighter needs to take care of her in some way- even if it’s by raising his bad arm around her to pull her close.
They will keep eachother warm all winter. And the Old Squirrel stores away more of her little secrets in that old ear of his. They will stay warm and cozy in there, she muses. And the lamps seem to buzz a little brighter...