Page 75 - April 2021
P. 75

The Fox by the Fence



          There  is  wildness  there,  just  beyond

          our falling down, weathered fence. It
          made  its  home  in  the  scramble  of

          grass  trees  and  wattle  between  the
          towering Marri.
          The  perfume  of  the  natives  warred

          with the smell of newly tilled earth in
          my  neat  veggie  plot  and  the  bracing

          tartness  of  the  overgrown  mint  by
          the back step.
          There was another scent on the wind,

          something  untamed.  It  was  a  musty
          rankness,         the      herald        for     my

          occasional night-time visitor.
          All  the  other  animals  quieted  in  the

          shadows  at  the  approach  of  the
          predator.

          Unseen and then seen, it lingered on
          the  border  between  the  house  and
          the  bush,  its  tufted  red-brick  snout

          trembled between the palings of the
          litterateur april
          silvery, splintered fence.                      75
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