With my little eye.

By its quick rustle in the dead leaves, there's no telling what it is. It might be a mouse, a chipmunk, a very quiet skunk, a relatively serene squirrel. The chipmunks, especially, have always been legion. Stand at the screen and stare at the ground, watching for the greenery to jostle and shift again. Watch for what's moving the green. See nothing, and then, and then, see something. See, see. They were not here for just one night. Tonight they are many and separated, under the green.

Your very seeing will bring on mass flight, a running for different cover where no one's eyes come from behind a screen, grow large and long, whir and click.