Poetry without words, taken in Costa Rica by the Areneal Volcano.
One afternoon in the 80s, my parents bought a bucket of KFA and took me into the pine woods offset from Key Biscayne Beach, in Miami. Four-year-old me, sat on a picnic bench waving a drumstick. Gnawing at it with my greasy little fingers, a squirrel slid down the tree and snatched my chewed drumstick. I pulled back, but the squirrel lunged and snipped my finger, punctured skin, then bound up the tree, meat in the locks of its jaws. My only memory of a family picnic.
I had fun with this one at Coral Reef Park, Miami.