The fog of freedom’s air

The moon drifts high
through an asthmatic sky.
The valley glows with an eerie shine.

An angry dog
barks at the fence,
its echoes roll
across the field.

A fox stands still,
its body tense,
it stares at the snarling beast,
and wonders—
friend or foe?

The dog’s low growls
refuse to fade.
The fox retreats
to shadow’s fold,
beneath the moonlit
cherry tree.

It leaps through mist,
unbound and free,
and wonders why
the fenced-in dog
won’t break away,
won’t taste the fog
of freedom’s air.

.