Last fall, squirrels planted our yard,
scavenging from a neighbor's tree.
We would see them race along the fence top,
their tails soft plumes,
their jaws clenching the rough, dark nuts.
Wherever we trod, our shoes crunched.
We wondered if these diggers had saved
internal maps, could ever find again
each buried treasure.
They had layered our ground with potential.
Now, seven plants in a row
from nuts they had dropped from the fence.
Such apt sowing! Such a thrusting forth
from broken shell, from kernel,
for this green grove, growing.