The To and Fro

Owls fly back toward the dark, mice follow the talons of an exposing sun. The tramp and scurry of predators and prey passing each other, to-and-fro. At the tree line, a small clearing of calm. Here dawn and night mingle for a moment. Here the fox loses the scent of the rabbit, the thrush goes blind to the worm; only for a moment at a crossroad of time. Light and dark in perfect balance - just for an instant, then all directions doom themselves once more into perilous paths, all must return to the hawk-eyed tracks of the back-and-forth, the menacing trace of coming and going, the blood-splattered trails of to-and-fro.