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Mustela nivalis
Shining in the long grass
Between the compost and the rhubarb.
A single bright eye, observing me.
Then in a flash,
A vibration,
A quicksilver sensation,
Gleaming rivers of motion
Transmitted subtly in wavelengths
With a tendence to russet and cream,
He was gone.
My watchman,
The dark demon of the field vole,
My weasel.
