If most of us would fairly resign to the
inevitable, then not so for her. She had to free him from his lonely end . Lyly
could not hide her sorrow. She wanted to and must, save this tiny insignificant
squirrel. Surely, she could do something. Tasty treats seemed a good thing to
her sweet mind. As if a strawberry could
help. No words felt right.
She said nothing.
Like hers, our minds too I believe, would silently race through any and
all ideas. I saw Lyly's lower lip and chin quiver. That look. That look cuts to
a soul’s core. Injustice witnessed or endured caused a visible, unstoppable
physical reaction in her heart. Yet, she is stronger than any of us. Our
reality was that this doomed creature would die under the summer sun. So hot.
Merciless.
Lyly insisted, if possible, that she might gently spirit the
squirrel into shade, from its hell’s scorching
hot needle death bed. She had something she could do, nothing was
certain to her. But I knew. I felt emotionally dehydrated. I'd never before
seen such a drama. Lyly's silent assurance enshrouded us all. All of us,
including those who were not there. Nature takes no sides, and didn’t with this
squirrel. Nature comforted me anyway, awestruck and effete, through Lyly,
again, silently.