The squirrels are braying and chittering in our oaks;
One might imagine they are telling jokes,
Although more likely is they’ve spied a cat
And are apprising others of just that.
Then farther off, the sounds of hammers pound,
New houses going up here all around.
Planes from the north descend just overhead
With tourists who from colder climes have fled.
Our feathered fliers cheep and chirp and churr,
Alert for feline dangers that occur.
The sun is brightening as day fully wakes,
Reflecting on our radiant ponds and lakes.
Though soundless, the sun’s shining causes stirs
Beneath the surface of these calm waters.