Squirrels

This is an update of the Prairie Schooler Autumn Sampler, which I think of now as "Squirrels," and sometimes, as "Roadkill." Feeling bad about the latter, I filled in the rest of the squirrel's body and then added to the leaves and vines last night, once again electing to stitch rather than go to bed at a reasonable hour. He looks a lot healthier today as a result, although I didn't take a picture late last night.

Across from the White House there is a park that I cross in order to get to my bus stop in the afternoon. There are whole flocks of squirrels in that park, and they are well-fed because of the tourists who send cheese curls and popcorn and whatnot their way. While the squirrels are meaty-looking, their tail-fur seems sparse and ratty, perhaps owing to their junk-food diet, although perhaps it's just a genetic variation in this particular neighborhood of city squirrels. Normally the squirrels scamper back and forth across the closed-down section of Pennsylvania Avenue and through the iron fence that surrounds the White House while the tourists snap each others' pictures. If I were a squirrel, I'd camp out in the trees on the White House lawn, which is lush and moist and intensely green, kept alive in this improbable heat by squadrons of lawn crews and an endless supply of water (as a taxpayer, your share of this lawn nurturing probably comes to eight cents, give or take). Perhaps there's a pecking order or a territory, where only the biggest, toughest (or the most well-connected) squirrels get to stay in the trees at the White House, but yesterday I noticed an encampment of squirrels in the dusty, drooping park. They were lying on the ground in the oppressive heat (it was 98 degrees at that point). Panting. With their little front paws stretched out in front of them and their hind legs extended, squirrel bellies pressed to the dry grass. I've never seen that before.

So I'd like to dedicate this sampler to the squirrels at Lafayette Park. And to Autumn--may it come soon.