We surprised each other when I opened the screen. He was first to act. But I was first to conceive where his choice would lead. He bounds along the deck rail to where it curves toward me, small, serious paws snapping through wheeling haunches. At the turn, a white cedar, the nearest, flimsy branch ten of his lengths away.
Risk is the rocks below, mortal harm.
But in his deep squirrel script it is written he will try. My breath catches for pure possibility, for what has to be, does not have to be. Before the leap, a pause. He cocks, guages space, and springs. His trap-sprung torso twisting, uncurling, until, at full extension, the sign of the great dare, the wait for judgement, a prayer to the frictive air.