Varmints, Rust, and the Geology of Failure

Will our roots break through and make good our intention?

I am currently locked in a stalking match with a red fox, and she’s winning. She bounds through windblown grass on the field edge deftly, breaking the necks of barn fowl with her bloody smile as I stumble through the brambled draws over muddied feathers and through buzzing carrion flies. I haven’t found her den, but I can trace her path through the bill…