Or Squirrel Conflict as Metaphysical Allegory
by Vixie the Fox, Literary Titan of Her Own Mind
This morning, the sun winked at me
like it knew I had survived something,
and just as I stepped outside with dramatic flair,
I beheld it:
two squirrels—
locked in glorious, nut-fueled combat.
It was… divine.
They rolled through the underbrush like Shakespearean fools,
fur puffed, eyes wide,
one shouting (probably), “The acorn is mine, Gerald!”
the other shrieking, “Not if I ascend the branch of destiny first!”
I watched, tail elegantly curled,
and felt my heart expand.
It reminded me of Dostoevsky.
Not in any logical way,
but in the sheer emotional chaos of it.
Two souls, each convinced they are the tragic hero
of a narrative that ends in
tree dominance.
I wept.
Not out of sadness,
but because it was so real.
The primal need, the absurdity, the stakes (which were extremely low)—
It was life.
Raw. Unfiltered. Acorn-shaped.
I have since penned seventeen haikus,
three memoir entries, and a sonnet about Gerald’s fall from grace.
(He dropped the acorn. It was a plot twist.)
And I must say:
If squirrels can battle beneath the oaks
in the name of something small and crunchy,
then surely I can finish a sentence today
without spiraling into a monologue about the moon.
So thank you, bushy-tailed duelist duo.
You have gifted me clarity.
You have gifted me laughter.
You have gifted me an excuse to use the phrase
“emotional nut-based warfare.”
And truly—what more does literature need?
