A fox slipped under the gate,
having crossed the high street,
brush sweeping the floor;
Street lights made orange pools,
reflected back in random puddles.
I took the climb, the switchback
up to the top and then down;
darker here, lights up
no visible eyes shone back at me.
The return journey was just as dark,
but no critter to leave its mark:
the night I passed the same gritter,
twice!

In our coming and our going,
The Peace of God.