Pickings

When the green snout is full rabbits spill on the lawn. I worry night and day, because the stoats and the Red Tails are at work even in whelm and nimiety they hack and harrow. The young kits are many, the sun too bright. Foragers forgo fear, are palpable and open, not just the long-eared nibblers, the hairs on many scutters are laid bare, the sniffers thrive, are prone to be pounced upon; their thin pelts all unhidden, and being many, and not running, they are huddled. If this spill will not ease. If the grabbers not falter, the singled-out dither, the glut not wither, then the green snake will climb a way to the nestlings hutch; all so easily found and quickly snatched. I worry for the small brown birds, their mottled shells still unhatched. In this gorge and sate; I fret for all this new life that has arrived too late.