Early morning encounter

Between my running ghost

and the grey sky,

A squirrel freeze-frames

itself:

Just ahead of me –

on a spindly branch.

She stares in me.

Mirrored by her huge tail:

a quivering question-mark.

And then, in a sudden hopscotch,

She staccatos along again

To the safety of hometree.

I run beneath her empty stage.

Twigs there – still violining.

The echo of my trainers on the path –

The sound of hands clapping.

Harvey Duke