Life Stalks Death

Moonless, the night pastes itself onto an imaginary sky. Cats crouch. Under-bush nibblers in their bolt holes whisker speak, as trembling senses crawl into a skin-tight stillness. A cloud scatters shredding threads of perception. A lamp-lit moon glow peers through a momentary window, sees the swishing tail, the twitching interim paused in apprehension. A tablue is caught in the creeping stealth of blood calling to blood. Tracks will be hoar frosted over, all will be well met by the narrow boned dawn where cawing crows may gather for their pickings.