She Sneaks Up on Foxes

Out back, some three-hundred yards
from her house, she glides like a phantom
through the conifers in half-moon light.

One with the night, the land, the trees,
she tops the hill and waits, sitting
on the cold fallen foliage that rests beneath her.

Her eyes adjust, and she sees the mated
pair of silver foxes, far down, lying low in
the little clearing, full of tall grass.

It’s a challenge. She sees the one on
the left turn to give his mate a fox kiss,
and then lap his paws. Rising silently

and flowing into the night, downwind;
slowly, carefully, she begins the
magically silent approach. She stops

when she is within twenty yards;
almost close enough to hear them breathing.
Nobody can sneak up on foxes.