A cold Winters night,
Deserted and quiet,
With frost, lying white
On the ground,
Just a bright shaft of light,
Shed by the moon,
All was deserted,
No movement or sound,
The stillness was hushed,
As if by an audience
Awaiting a play to begin,
When a sound pierced the night,
A sharp, eerie cry,
Then another, yet closer again,
I stood, bated breath,
Unobserved in the dark,
Sparkling frost held a Winters delight,
With excited expectancy
Eyes open wide,
Would he come
In the quietness of night?
Then suddenly,
Into the light he appeared,
Like an actor
Who'd awaited his cue,
No audience
More appreciative than I,
As he stealthily trod into view,
His tail held out straight,
Nose sniffing the air
For the scent of some food, or maybe
He lingered awhile,
In the light of the moon,
The fox, with his audience,
Just me!