It is the pungency of green leaf volatiles spurred into the atmosphere by their makers. It is the tines that slip into the cargo of plastic vessels and force rogue grains of rice to jump ship. The nervous birds which survey these developments from above, making their reconnaissance rounds, waiting for a better moment to swoop. The flightless but intrepid squirrels which dash haphazardly into the fray to collect fallen breadcrumbs and Cracker Jacks and the aforementioned rice. Acorns everywhere. It is that time.
The trees scrape the sky, but I do not see. The world is big enough near the ground, where I am in hot pursuit. My paws displace earth, toss blades in my wake. The field of my view has warped and shrunk and the only things in it are fur, beady eyes, a blob I know is a body. My quarry runs. I chase. Our interaction could not be simpler. The unseeable green beneath me is dusted with peanuts. At times there is a great blinding glare from the metal jungle in which my owner plays. Sometimes I play too, but now is a time for business. My quarry runs. I chase. It is that simple.
Give sunlight to the masses. Let water corkscrew from a stone fish’s mouth into nothingness. Pardon the fuzzy, yellow-green spheres which start elsewhere and end in the five-compartment containers containing unfinished lunches from the Japanese supermarket. A judgement from the courts. Place a palm on the railing, allow iron-chill to diffuse its way up your arm and your exterior, in the latter case as tingles which constantly try to excavate their way into your chest. Stroll outside in the open air, on the walkways, rolling your neck in all directions. Feel the gravel shift under your feet. Listen to the artificial chimes of the truck trundling down the road. Get your ice cream! And please, above all, make sure to save the moment. It is going to be one of your best ones.