here

dead in the pale

a tract allowed to rest

fallow

yellow and dry

at peace

for this year

from the harvester

the forager

the scavenger

there

a sign of life

in the dusk

running

straight-line

under a dust-hung veil

scuttling the earth

in the wide-open space

unprotected

in flight

nearby

a second puff

more dust lifted

at speed

another line

almost parallel to the first

a few degrees off

promising convergence

just before the haven

of a neighbouring coppice

the vectors meet –

a thunderhead of grit

hanging over the intersection

movement and momentum transformed

into a fur and tooth and claw

singularity

* * *

one slinks into the thicket

brushing the dirt from its face

the other drains into the parchedness

a stain fading into the darkening field