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.