A Season of Silver And Gold

April had sauntered in bearing a sunny afternoon on the first day I decided to work in the garden.  My work was mostly mundane, but it was always cheered by birdsong, the wind in the trees, and the sun warming and mellowing the brick until it threw back heat to the table where I sat.  I picked at my lunch for a few minutes, watching the birds zooming in and out of the trees in the gardens.

Then the old fox came to take his afternoon rest at the bottom of the Scots Pine, his bed soft and supple with many years of fallen needles.  With the relative safety of the woods behind, I loved that he felt secure enough to sleep in the garden.  One year, his vixen had brought her cubs right up to where I now sat in the garden, next to the old French doors with their peeling paint.  The boldest and most exuberant cub had stared into the sitting room, while we stood entranced on the other side of the glass, both species lost in the magic of the unexpected encounter.  Finally one of the small siblings jumped on the staring cub, and they were away in a flurry of play.  

My eye caught movement in the grass.  There was a bounding squirrel on the lawn, taking an occasional sniff and a quick dig for something buried, tasty and eagerly awaited.  “Dratted squirrels,” my husband sometimes said, but we both knew he didn’t mean it.  Over the years we had come to recognise some of the residents of the trees.  I couldn’t pick out this one.  They normally came no closer than the rhododendron, and my aging eyesight was no longer good enough to pick out the small details to identify each one from the length of the lawn.  

I almost laughed, as the squirrel jumped up on the low wall near my table.  It was as though he had come closer to let me identify him.  But this handsome beast was not one that I remembered.  He had no notched ear, no tail with a hairless punctuation midway, and no unfeasibly while belly.  We looked at one another for a long moment of evaluation, and then he jumped to the floor.  Disappointed, I looked back to my lunch, and then there was a light metallic clang as he landed on the table beside me.  

I hardly dared to breathe.  None of them had ever come this close before.  Stretching my hand out slowly, so as not to startle him, I picked up a hazelnut from my plate and rolled it gently across the table to him, trying hard to miss the holes where a pattern perforated the surface.  The squirrel regarded it carefully, then grasped the rounded nut delicately between his two front paws.  He took a few experimental nibbles, while I watched his belly ripple as he chewed.  

“Most delicious.”   The voice was deep and mellifluous.  It was erudite, comforting.  And it seemed to be coming from my head.  

“Don’t fret about why and how,” the voice in my head continued.  “Let’s enjoy the now.”  And he returned to his nut, for all the world as though he had finished his sentence.  Then he looked at me again.  “There are so many things that exist beyond the physical.”

“Would you like another?”  I didn’t speak, but the thought passed clearly between us.  

“That would be most welcome.”

I pushed the plate towards him, and he carefully selected a second hazelnut.  I felt rather than saw his yearning for the apple that was also on the plate.  

“Will you share my apple too?”  

He gave a little shudder of pleasure.  “But please, only if you eat with me.  I have never had the pleasure of dining with another.  We are solitary when we eat.”

I wiped my knife on a napkin, and carefully moved towards the plate, hoping not to startle him. 

“I know I am safe with you.”

I relaxed, and began to slice the apple thinly.  Once I had cut half, he looked at me again. 

“Please choose first.”

I must have looked baffled, or maybe he could hear my thoughts.  

“You don’t choose?”

“Well not unless it’s my husband and the biggest slice of chocolate cake on the plate.”

A small moment of laughter rumbled in his belly.  “We can see many differences that I imagine you cannot.”

“Then please do take your favourite.”

He leaned forward and carefully picked up the third slice.  “Now you.”

I took the piece to the right.  

“Excellent selection.”  He raised the apple slice to his mouth and began to nibble delicately.  “This is a fine apple.  Crisp, sweet, juicy. I am in your debt.”

“I am in yours.  I never thought I would meet a squirrel up close.”

“The pleasure is mine.  We see you often, you know.  Especially over the past year.  You have been here many times when the sun was out.”  His paw wiped a small glistening droplet of apple juice from his jaw.

“The humans are sick.  We have all had to stay home.”

“I am sad to hear that.  Like the disease of rabbits?”

I thought fleetingly of Watership Down. “Yes.”

“I have scented much death and sickness.  And sorrow too.  But you and your husband are well.”

“We are,  And I am thankful for that.”

“He has made a fine job here.”  The squirrel looked around the garden, thoroughly dug, planted and much improved over lockdown.  “Your green plums were most delicious.  Last year was the first year in many that the tree fruited.”

“They definitely were delicious.  Was it you who sat there and ate seven in a row last autumn?”

He gave a belly laugh.  “Guilty, I’m afraid.  I couldn’t stop myself.  But my tummy paid for it later.”

I smiled.  “It tends to happen like that.  May I know your name?”

“Mine would be a little difficult to pronounce.  But please call me Silver.”

“That is beautiful.  And your fur is spectacularly silver.”

He chuffed a little in embarrassment.  “Please indulge an old squirrel. May I call you Gold?”  He looked at my long strawberry blonde hair, twisted gently by the breeze. 

“I would be honoured.”

“Silver is also my season.  I know that I am now in the winter of my life.  And it has been a good one, full of adventures and pleasures.  I can smell the decay in myself.  There are not too many sleeps left for me now.  I will not be enjoying your next green plum harvest. That is why I plucked up the courage to try and meet you.”

I was surprised to find tears welling in my eyes. His calm acceptance cut right through me.

“Don’t be sad, Gold.  You are in the autumn of your life, so there is time left for you.  There are many days and seasons remaining to enjoy.  But with a bit less tapping of that machine.”  He gestured with a paw to my laptop, still unopened.  “Your husband has it right.  Dig, plant, renew, harvest.  Make your seasons count.”

A solitary tear escaped and ran down my cheek.  “Will I see you again?  After today, I mean.”

“I very much hope so.  But we can never tell exactly how many sleeps remain.”  He paused a moment, thoughtfully.  “May I scent you?”

It was as if his presence had created a heightened understanding in me.  I had only known real fear twice before.  Once when I was on a plane that nearly crashed, and again when the consultant came to tell me my mother’s prognosis at the hospital.

Silver and I met eyes.  I realised he was asking me if I wanted to know how much remained of my lifespan.  

“Please do.”  

He moved forward, then with a brush of soft belly, leaned over and placed his paw on my little finger.  The paw was warmer than I had imagined, and soft like a chamois leather.  He leaned forward to my hand, and took a few deep breaths, his mouth opening each time exposing small white teeth.  

“You have time, Gold.  Maybe a little less than you have imagined, but plenty to see you through many winters  But you should do less worrying, less tapping at the machine, and spend more time digging this garden.”

“You sound like my doctor.”  I immediately felt ashamed.  “I didn’t mean that badly, Silver.  I am grateful for your insight.”

“Does it pain you to think of that?”

I chewed my lip for a moment.  “Yes and no.  Yes, because there could never be enough days.  And no, because at least I know it’s not imminent.”

“It won’t be soon. You still have time to do the things you want.  But you must make haste with your plans, because not even a squirrel knows exactly when the final sleep will arrive.”

Silver moved on the table to look at the fox.  “He has the right idea.  He lives hard and well, then sleeps the sleep that rewards the weary.”

“That’s a good way to live your life.  I meant it when I said I was grateful, Silver.  That kind of insight doesn’t come often, and I would imagine never in this way.  Am I dreaming?”

“Put your palm on my belly.”

Silver’s fur was sleeker and softer than I had ever imagined.  

“Now tell me that’s a dream.  And stop tickling me.”

Silver knew how to change the mood.  

I pushed the plate back between us.  “Shall we finish lunch?”

We chatted gently between bites.  I cut the remaining half of the apple, and Silver carefully chose a succulent sliver.

“Did you know my pillow is made of your husband’s hair?”

I remembered the many times during lockdown that I had cut his hair at this table.

“It’s very soft, but there’s not much of it.”

I laughed again.  “He would say the same.”

“May I make a very bold request?”

“Of course.  Ask away, Silver.”

“Might I have a lock of your hair, Gold?  I think it would make a most delightful pillow, reflecting sunset and moonrise and the stars and sunrise.”

“How could I refuse such a beautiful request?  Will you stay here if I go and get what is needed to do that?  

“But of course.   And I will try not to eat the rest of the apple.”

“Eat away.  There are more in the house.”

“I would love to.  But remember the green plums.”

We laughed, and I stood up and opened the back door.  

When I returned, he pointed at the plate.  “I left some.”

“You have lots of willpower.”

When I set the mirror on the table, Silver was entranced.  He shuffled carefully towards it, looking first at the metal leaves and flowers on its stand, then at his own reflection in the mirror itself.  

“You have a standing pool,” he said in excitement.  “And it is framed by the beauty of the garden.”

I saw it afresh through his eyes.  My slightly dusty mirror was indeed a standing pool, casting its reflection to Silver as it did to me each morning when I brushed my hair.  

I reached round to the back of my head, brushing the top layers of hair upward and into a clip.  One length remained.  

“Will that be enough?”

“That’s very generous.”

I picked up my scissors, snipped, then put the captured hair into a tiny gauze bag just big enough for a ring.  I trapped the bag under the mirror frame so the breeze couldn’t take it, then let my hair back down.  

“You would never know,” said Silver, looking at the back of my head as I turned.  “You still have a plume of gold.” 

He moved over and scented the lock of hair.  “You smell of cherry blossom.”

“Shampoo from Japan.  And yes.  You must have so many memories of scents in your head.”

“Your hand smells of blossom too - orange blossom.  Perhaps I should have called you Blossom,“ he teased.  

“I wish I had met you years ago.”

“And I you, Gold Blossom.”

“Are all squirrels full of charm and wisdom?”  

“We like to think so.” And Silver raised his white eyebrow.  “I want to say wit as well, but that wouldn’t be humble.  Now I will have to go.  An old squirrel needs a siesta.  And preferably before the blackbird starts singing and echoing while he flies down the side of the house.”

“Sweet but noisy, isn’t he?”

“Indeed.  Such a fine voice though.”

“It’s a pleasure to hear.  Tomorrow?”  I couldn’t stop a little quiver in my voice.  I knew I was greedy to be wanting more of this encounter, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“Maybe.  I would like to think so.  But I am grateful that we had today, and that I got to hear your soft voice, Gold.  I will have sweet dreams on the pillow of your hair.”

“Sleep well, Silver.”  I passed him the small bag, and watched as he pouched it.  

“Will you be able to open that?”

And before my head had finished saying the words, I saw the old clip of a squirrel, set to the Mission Impossible theme, charging through an assault course full of intellectual challenges.  Laughter overtook us both, and with a squeeze of my little finger with his paw, he was gone.  I thought I saw him briefly traverse next door’s oak and then he vanished into the new leaves.