There was a child-sized rustle in
an old thorny bush
hanging like an eyebrow,
thick and tangled
over the top of a ditch.

A cloud of a tail burst out
like a gust of autumn leaves,
flowed down and bounded up the ditch
into a kale-strewn field where
it turned in a lazy circle,
and a dog fox emerged
and stared, affronted, at my surprise.

He was so shiny as to be sleek,
and the sun turned his fur
to match the orange fruit
of a sea buckthorn.

He gazed at me full of calm,
whereon he nodded,
as one equal to another,
then turned and strolled
full of reckless courage
up towards the farm.