Where I am sitting right now a motorcycle just revved its engine and an inquisitive squirrel stopped its descent mid-trunk out of fear.  The engine has vanished down a curvy road but the squirrel remains still, afraid to shift position.  It watches me through the porch screen, wary of the sounds, the vibrations, the rhythm of a life force not quite natural, and when only the wind is left in the wake of the vehicle, the squirrel ripples its tail, as if testing the air for danger, and then dashes down the tree to a patch of lawn, careful to avoid the concrete road.