Leaf 295 – Homeward Bound
For about a year or so, when I was
around the age of nineteen, I had a job as a barman on the other side of town.
When I finished my evening shift, after midnight, I often used to walk home. It
was a long walk of several miles. I’m not sure now why I never caught the bus. I
certainly took the bus there sometimes. It might have been because the buses
had stopped running by that time of night, or possibly I preferred to save the
bus fare, and more likely get some fresh air after working all evening in a smoky
pub. Whatever the reason was, one night in particular sticks in my mind.
Because on that night, when I was walking down the deserted High Street, I found
myself following a fox. The fox had glanced over its shoulder at me momentarily,
but was clearly unconcerned and simply carried on walking ahead of me. The
hidden claws of her feet clicking on the metalled road while she
walked. Anyone looking out of a window might have thought I was out walking my
dog. It was a magical moment of nocturnal connection. At the end of the High
Street the fox slipped into the trees by the bridge over the river, where I turned
and followed Bridge Street onwards to home. It was only after I wrote the
following poem and re-read it that I realised it could easily be read in a
different – perhaps, more risqué and seedy – sort of way. But I assure the
reader, my hometown wasn’t that kind of place, nor am I that kind of person.
After midnight –
through the empty town
following a fox.
