I press my nose and bristles upon the glass
leaving a smeary imprint on the pane.
My breath condenses, creating a ghostly view.
I wait for it to clear and then renew
my vigil of the wildlife on the other side.
Somehow they’re ignorant of my nighttime vigil,
playing or resting in the dying light.
They seem content, possessing a simple ease.
But then they start, I’m rumbled, so I turn,
my white tipped tail the last thing that they see.

Reynard came to our sitting room window last night and for a moment we stared at each other.
(26.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Jeremy Vessey on Unsplash