College Stories(Memories of Finn)Q2 : Bin Squirrel by RainbewLatte |
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With rain there are happenings, and with happenings there are “bin squirrels” (squirrel, singular, in my case). I was walking out of my dorm simply to indulge in my Sunday (given the rain had let up a little), when I crossed a fellow that I had the urge to name “Thing” (probably not the kindest of names), which in reality was just a squirrel standing on one of the four edges of the trash bin just a short walk away from my dorm. And for the longest moment, I was enamored by the thing as it stood motionless and with eyesight like mine under the hood of the trash can (is that what it’s called?) I almost couldn’t make out the thing. But having encountered what I believe to have been possums twice during my time here at SCU, I knew that that was the one thing it couldn’t be. Besides, there are plenty of squirrels at SCU, so I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. I continued on my stroll with no destination in mind (after taking a picture, maybe two), unable to shake the thought from my mind. I couldn’t help but ponder the secret life of bin squirrels. Were they the unsung heroes of campus clean-up, bravely perched on the frontlines of refuse management? Or, perhaps, in their tiny, furry minds, they held clandestine meetings, discussing the latest gossip from the grounds of SCU. I watched as raindrops continued their soft percussion on the leaves above (a little harder now), creating a tranquil soundtrack (or backtrack to the soundtrack I was listening to) to my musings. And, in the process, I found myself involuntarily glancing at every trash bin I passed, half-expecting another bin squirrel to appear. A game of hide-and-seek, Where’s Waldo, or iSpy with these elusive campus dwellers, one in which they’d hardly ever be found. Having made my rounds, I made my way back towards my dorm, stopping at the trash bin once more, only to notice that it was gone. Leaving the trash bins and their clandestine gatherings behind as I made my way through my dorm’s front door, I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of these untold stories unfolding right under our noses (or, in this case, right under the hoods of trash cans), wondering, if we truly paid attention, truly noticed, what type of things we’d find.
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RainbewLatte
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