Translation:
foxes flit in and out of existence like virtual particles/ghost particles
they stop and stare not belonging to this world
they squat in paths, make you think they're tame and then vanish and
consider old carpet a luxury
foot prints record their crimes and other misdemeanours
they know the secret pathways to invisibility
You wrote this? You drew this? To say 'lovely' seems trivial. But something along those lines.
ReplyDeleteno 'lovely' is good! especially as the writing is only supposed to be noting down ideas and observations
DeleteI'm glad you're posting again. You're flying.
ReplyDeleteI'm still trying to keep it up despite not getting to the allotment as often as I should. Thanks for your landfill harmonic post, really enjoyed it!
DeleteI saw more foxes in the city than here in the country. They were down the end of the garden and liked to sun themselves on top of the shed. Your words are definitely like a poem.
ReplyDeleteI grew up very close to fields and farmland and spent many hours exploring the countryside but hardly ever saw a fox. Now living in london iI see them so often its almost boring. Its nice that you think my notebooks sound like a poem, if they do its purely accidental.
ReplyDelete