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.
From Brittle Star No 11 (Spring 2005)