There he stood, unalarmed,
moving slowly, then holding still,
poised at the edge of the road.
I was struck by his colors,
how he blended in with willow-red
and golden-grass fur.
And he went on his way,
ignoring painted lines,
to disappear in the meadow nearby.
I am learning to give way to the wild.
Trusting each impulse, each instinctive scent
on my night-time hunt for prose and song.