The Window Closed to Snowfull tail draped round, pointed nose resting on paws and brazen jet eyes judging me. He disdained, I think, my gaze mistook for avarice. He told me he was his own fox. To wrap myself in a blanket, leave him to stretch and search for a rodent fat on grain spilled in the barn, or a rabbit, white hiding under snow knoll built on scrub oak. An egg left alone for pecking time. A cup of tea and down comforter took me from the view to ponder fate, the fox and smaller, soft eyed beings searching too. ___Myrne Roe |
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