Pull Me, Push Me…
The fidgeting, white streaked visage
Offered reluctant, tantalising glimpses
Of a curious, cautious countenance:
Lurching forth, foraging,
Hesitating, scavenging,
Then seemingly being hauled back
By some invisible rein,
Its unpredictable strain
Slack, then taut, like the controlling
Of an inquisitive hound
Or a staggering infant
By an owner or a parent, strolling…
Darkness enticed a further advance
Until a small twig dropped
Upon dead leaves, by chance
And the badger stopped,
Turned and disappeared with retreating bound…
Pete Ray
21st September 2021…
As the nights draw in, fewer glimpses of badgers are being enjoyed.
This happened on 16th September…
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