A Dangerous Smoker

Mists fell into valleys, onto rivers, like a ghostly swathing shrouds.
Hard rutted ridges stumbled feet, iced over puddles creaked but took weight.
Trapped bubbles scurried from beneath the boot.
Hoarfrost needles whitening boughs gleamed in the moonlight. Orange
tinged clouds, canopied those ensconced in distant hearths and home.

Night cries signaled unease, alert wariness. Denizens of dykebacks
nervously puffed up their feathers. Hunters eyes winked malevolently in the
moonlight. A palpable watchfulness, an expectancy pervaded the night.
The age old deadly game of hide and kill begins, and I, am very very dangerous.
"Mother natures law," some will die that others may live.

I lit a ciggy, leaned on the five bar gate, blew smoke out into the clear cold air.
Funny how things are different at night; sound will carry, glow of the fag;
worse, the stink of baccy. Now that'��s what will give old Reynard his best chance,
and he better take heed, as I will kill him. Still, me with the twelve over and under
beside me, will be alive in the morning; unless these things kill "Me."