In the car we discussed the venison,

whether to substitute cranberries

for blackberries to make the sauce,

following Nigella or Darina.

Our headlights spotlit something moving

among the trees. We stopped the engine

to watch a fox, who seemed unaware of us

and not the least bit frightened.

That was a few years ago and I think

it would be good if I could say the dark shadow

of the fox contrasted with the snow

and the paw prints were clearly visible,

but I can’t remember if there was snow.

I’ve rung the Met office, usually they charge

but I told them it was the same as I would get

if the poem were to be published.

After checking records, they rang me back,

there had been no snow. Perhaps a full moon?

That would have done the trick, but my filofax

disappointed – a half moon two days before

was the best I could find. So there was no snow,

but if I wanted I could put that fox

in a snow-covered wood under a full moon.