at 3 am this neighbourhood sleeps
the colourless sky
blends into the grey of the landscape
you follow every trail left by small animals
there — the path of a fox
sneaking home at dawn
here — the resting place of a hare
always ready to escape the fox
you pause your careful work
lift your greying snout
disturbed only by a crow's sudden flight
down from the shelter of trees
you don't want to go home
and I don't want to let go
© coldscars