No moon, but the air hums clear,
a tuning fork. Pines hush green strings,
oaks vibrate into frozen roots.
My head spirals, a bush sighs,
paws pad through gentle snow.
I note fox, weasel, lynx.
I map prey they’ve missed,
a squeak, a scuttle, susurrus
in buried leaves. I flex talons,
I rise from the hollow, hungering
for a heartbeat in shadow.