Old Trees and Squirrels

Planes break the silence of an almost blue sky
And my time spent wandering
In and out of what is to become
Of the minutes that pass
Each needing something from me
Leaving me bound to cigarettes
And an almost empty red glass
Painting masterpieces
Only to find them as fleeting as the black squirrels
That ring around the trunks and branches
Of old trees
I can see them from the kitchen
Going about with the things that black squirrels do
Which is nothing really
But still
They are squirrels none the less