A Striped Visitor

I walked through the back door and trotted toward the garden fence. A wooden clothespin was clipped onto a low tomato twine, but someone else had gotten there first. A tiny chipmunk was perched right on the fence rail, holding a dry sunflower hull with both paws. I paused, keeping my shoes still against the damp mulch. It paused too, its glossy black eye watching me while its whiskers twitched. Slowly, I knelt down, resting both hands on my knees. It nibbled twice, dropped the empty shell with a soft click, and scampered along the wood without rushing. We shared a quiet, sunny minute together.