is a mound of dry grass
folded on itself. Imagine it,
ears tucked in,
its half shut eyes watchful whilst
its belly listens to vibrations
in the ground.

I almost trod on its hairbrush back,
hidden amongst the thistles,
but a flicker of tension
moved against the wind and caught me.
We stared at each other
one eye to my two eyes,
all three startled,
before it exploded before me
and hared off across the field,
unzipping the silage,
and leaving,
in its flattened form,
a warm imprint,
and the dot, dot, dot,
of three droppings.