i

A swan, standing, preening itself obliviously

in the nearside lane of the overpass,

diverts the chance commuters into

storytellers for the day.

                               ii

One morning, perched on a bird table, a kestrel

was tearing a head.

A pheasant, late in the afternoon, whirred from the terrace

and over the privet.

Earthbound, a hedgehog tripped the security light and waited.

                              iii

In one late September week, I saw three foxes:

one crossing the car park at Sainbury’s in sunset,

its lean head scanning;

another approaching the motorway across meadowland, loping

securely in wilderness;

the third, dead, and laid, like any dog or cat,

on the trimmed verge.