My Stories

Recently I lost a friend. Occasionally, I was lucky enough to see him. Most recently galloping through standing water left from the flooding. Running towards me, beautiful rust coloured coat, triangle ears, marmalade eyes looking straight into mine. (Strange behaviour for a fox) but he was saying I’m here, I’m still here, I’ve survived the floods for another year.

For the past three and a half years we had shared our walks of this beautiful and wild land. His paths crossed mine, circling each other in quiet company. I had smelt him, seen him, seen his paw prints in the mud, where my footprints lie in the mud too. He had shared his insight with me. I found him dead in his favourite sun spot a few weeks ago.

For the last few days, I have felt the stare of a pair of marmalade eyes, from places hidden, unseen.

My body remembering what it felt like when the stare of this kin reached my skin. A Fox, my body and soul have whispered to me. A Fox is here.

Then today, when I walked this land, I smelt that familiar smell, musty, strong and wild Fox scent. Damp orange fur. His path across mine. As I walked I felt those eyes on me, inquisitive.

We danced a dance around each other, unseen, hushing, I smelt him. Then I found his mark, a big fresh, smelly Fox scat in the snow. Just a short distance from where my old friends body rests on the earth.

And so, a new cycle begins, a new dance to dance, a new friendship, a story. The Fox and me, me and the Fox