all around the great dead oak
as darkness falls
a fisher dances
hunting white-footed mice
a dark sine curve
against the snow
that is also somehow able
to freeze for long minutes
crouching pouncing
coming up empty
it is only i sitting across
the frozen pond
who leaves feeling
fuller than before
filled i suppose with seasonally
appropriate gratitude
for this beautiful small beast
with its wild blood-lust
for my encounter with it
once in a new moon
for the freedom it still enjoys
to disappear