By: Cynthia Pitman

Not too long ago,
the backyard had an old orange tree.
Too tall and very spindly,
it one day split a dry crack
down its trunk, sealing its fate.
After the tree was felled
by hired men and machines,
the squirrels that had once saved
the seeds of the fallen oranges
and had once tasted
their sweet-bitter juice
were left vagrants.
They scrambled
to who knows where.
Somewhere they still search for seeds.
They gather their little hoards
and bear down,
trying to convince themselves
they are ready
for the cold winds of winter
coming their way.