There is movement of sorts, a shift of soul, the opening and closing of doors.
I understand the moment, the movement, the running in and out of here and there.

Searching is happening everywhere. The squirrels went searching for food and found my tulip bulbs.
If I go back to the moment I planted them and try to connect it to the moment they hauled them off to a nest at the top of the tree, I lose. So I smile instead, laugh and call him a fat bastard.