When running in the winter, I always scan the bare trees for squirrel’s nests, those innocuous clumps of debris in the upper boughs that look less like nests and more like random piles of leaves trapped on their way to the ground. Many trees claim home to at least one family of squirrels, sometimes two. They appear to be indifferent architects at best. But although the nests don’t look like much, I always imagine the squirrels curled up tightly together inside of them, a happily chaotic ball of fur and leaves, gently swaying far above our heads. How freeing it could be for us to sleep above the earth, yet still barely anchored to it!
