I could see the squirrel so clearly through the pane of glass. He was a chubby fellow, and he was stuffing himself. His restaurant was the maple tree outside my window.
As he ate, he exercised, getting into amazing contortions to reach for for the maple keys in nearby branches.
He wasn't tidy, either. After greedily devouring the desirable seeds, he dropped the rest, heedless of whoever might be passing below.
Watching the squirrel dine cleared up a little mystery. Now I know where the maple keys go when they disappear from the bare branches. I used to think they just fell on the ground.
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