There is a fox in this picture:
You might not see him, but he's there... he lives in Haggerston Park, and is starting to make a habit of running across Goldsmith's Row right in front of me when I'm walking home in the evening. Not when I'm ready for him, mind; no, when I have the camera out and on and I'm proceeding cautiously and watchfully, waiting for a flash of gingery whiskers, all I see is this:
But when I'm striding home in the sharp briskness, never even thinking of a fox, THEN he sidles out through the railings about three feet away, doesn't he? Little bugger's just taunting me now; he stood there and stared at me, while I fumbled madly with gloves and bag and camera and trying not to stand on the bike path, and just when I was ready he sauntered off again... maybe another time. Or maybe not.
4 comments:
Shhh!! His name is Harquin, and he promised his mother he would never go down to Goldsmith's Row. But in the evening, when the frost is beginning to form on the ground, and his mother thinks he is snug in bed, Harquin slides silently out of the den and goes out on adventures. One night ....
.... One night Harquin sidled through the snowy undergrowth of Haggerston Park, tempted from his lair by the savoury aroma of bangers and mash being prepared by the illustrious citizens of Hackney for their suppers. He squeezed through the railings and, with a shock, suddenly found himself face to face with .........
when we lived in brixton, a fox came through the bars of the window one summer, rainy night and slept on the futon, and bit through the handle of my leather bag....but left by the time we got up
wow, Anita; that's a story and a half :D
did you ever see him again?
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