The tree rat escaped while the hawk, aground, walked with a rustle of leaf litter. Tripped by a branch and falling to a knee, I watched the fuzzy tail disappear behind a tree.
Did it go up? Did it run on?
Once, a dog duo tracked the path and offered directional pointing.
I growl in frustration for not being a canine. I weep in the woodlot for my lost team.
peregrinations 