Fox (2)

I heard a fox as I walked out. What does a fox sound like? he has just asked me (his hands on his hips, and still in his pants). Like a dog, I said, but not like a dog. I was thinking about how to describe as I walked down the little hill into St David’s Road. It was more like a rasp than a bark, harsh, metallic, brittle. I love the wildness that edges our seemingly soft lives. Let it always be so.

The day has been upturned. I have do to a rewrite. They are hard to do and I weep tears of frustration and the rude interruption of my plans. So be it. It must be done, if not for her, for her. I have no idea what I shall write. I rarely do. Let it come.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.