Before The Squirrels' Entrance.

Shall we pass, with pigeons, through ice laced liquid seeming air, around a pond approached more often many moons ago, and permit the life around, upon, and within it, to paint us more memories?

Beige brown Egyptian Geese gather grandly.(Even the black rings round their eyes seem somehow royally resplendent.)

Do the Ducks dream? We may, of them, soon.

Might the crows later toss memories of these moments into imagined air , like sticks, or remains from the crueller consequences of the struggle for survival?

Are we hallucinating the hypnotic ripple in the water, broken by hints of silver scales?