Vixen

by Stella Wulf She lies low, watches the last crow ________fletch the bloodshot sky, ________________straight as a quarrel home to roost. A tatter of bats whisk...

Fluke

by Rebecca Gethin People wander the shore looking to sea as though waiting for a god to manifest, or a sign of an epiphany, an oracle from the expanse. We stare...

Footnotes

by Brian Johnstone It’s the pattern of a dance, not slow, slow, quick, quick, slow; but slow, slow, slow: the macro prints that show the steps – not feet, but f...

Prairie Dog

by Tricia Orr In your red clay chamber, you lift your velvet pincushion of an ear – what do you hear? Biologists have recorded you. If I wear blue your alarm ca...

Spinal Tap

by Kathy Miles He’s a motley, a bag of pick-and-mix. Black and white bullseyes, caramel, a splash of raspberry ruffle under his tail. He’s drumming ...

Golden Eagle

by Garry MacKenzie Ravens have him out of his depth, daring collisions until he’s forced to break his soar. They tumble him round the cliffs and out of sight: I...

Dung Beetle

by Ann Drysdale Here he comes, dribbling singlemindedly, concentrating, keeping control of the ball. And there he goes down the wing, the wing actual, the wing ...

Choughed

by Mark Totterdell Thrift and soft grasses have made me a mattress beneath the high overhang’s dark rocky buttress. Two choughs are feeding, each crimson bill p...