Each morning a squirrel, usually two, are in the small yard behind my apartment, offering a glimmer of life in the wild. I think of them as a conjugal pair. They come to my window with little interest as to what lies on the other side, but rather to gain access to a fence and more importantly the trees nearby. I hear them chatter and scurry. Sometimes when I sit outside, they are so absorbed in their daily actions that they do not notice me, until they do, then startled they dart away.

Sometimes in the night I hear feral cries and ferocious combats between creatures unseen.

The other morning I stepped outside. There were a few white feathers on the ground and part of a wing that had blood at it’s edges. No further evidence of the bird remained.

The next day the wing was gone. Even the few feathers left no trace, having been dispersed by the wind.

The squirrels returned to where the violence that had been.