Bloated shrew immobile, almost

crushed under booted foot as the dogs

ran free – like wolves, in pursuit

of the glorious rubious fox – over

grassy fields, under and through morning

dappled shadows of the majestic towering pines.

Temperately free, all; breath but clouds

trailing like vapourous breadcrumbs

to mark their progressive joy.

None too cold, but primordially refreshed

by ageless open air simplicity.