There was no real hurry, but the car
traveling toward town closes the distance with such urgency
that a shiny black form against the white snow
changes with supple suddenness
into a large weasel,
a shape moving with a purposeful
and graceful motion—like the occasional Mink
moving up the frozen river bed
outside our window, or the Otter’s trail left in the snow
forming an imaginative existence
of joyful movement.
The mind halts for a moment
even though this Fisher disappears
faster than than a foot finding the brake pedal.
This is the second of these sudden moments
that a Fisher has created. The flash of time
lasting forever in my memory
as its dark shape climbs
over high plowed piles of dirty snow
and moves with purpose
away from the road and into the trees. 
There was no reason to stop.
A few minutes later, one can doubt reality.
The only other sighting, my wife stopped the car fast,
and as we jumped out, it paused and looked back over its shoulder.