In fields of country wheat,
from the corner of my eye,
In amber grains discrete,
a Coyote stood chest high.
Nostrils flared,
with eyes in constant search,
Horizons scanning,
poised to quickly lurch.
Collar bristled in the wind,
he quickly turned away,
A scent of prey he’d just inhaled,
lured him to the fray.
And as he swiftly disappeared
to...
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