An English In Kentucky


















November 20th 2010    Tim Candler

    Often see a Squirrel apparently diligent with a nut in his mouth.  Blue Jays, too.  The plan I imagine is to put food by when it is plentiful, and return to it in crueler times.

   There is an oak somewhere down to the North of us.  It must be a Blue Jay Oak, because I find its acorns buried all over the place.  Twice while digging holes for trees and yesterday amongst the Potatoes I found three or four of them an inch or so into the turned ground.


    It is very obvious to me that both Squirrel and Blue Jay have that same confidence in memory that I do.  There is never a moment when I can say of a thing, "If I leave this here I will forget where it is."  Certainly I might admit to the possibility of forgetting, I might worry a while, I might look into the past where I have to accept the bounty of useful things I have lost, and then I shrug and dismiss the idea of forgetting as absurd.

    Squirrels share these same thoughts.  They pause before hiding their nut, they worry as I worry and so do Blue Jays. 

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