The fox sits by the roadside, like an insect caught in the amber sodium lights. He watches the traffic, golden eyes staring intently at each intruder on the hushed silence of the pre-dawn. The car now gone, he crosses the road and trots quickly away to his family.
Posted by: The Malt House | October 8, 2010
Fox
Posted in Autumn/winter | Tags: England, poetry, pre-dawn, prose, shropshire, wildlife
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