An Unusual Friendship

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Sleek form of burnished russet fur nimbly walking our garden wall. Each night we expect this visitor, indeed he has become an old friend. No longer hungry, robust and fit with a very fine brush. He sits down quite fearless waiting, dreaming of his potluck dinner. I never named this creature, although literature calls him Raynard. He is the hero of countless adventures. No, if I were to endow him with a name it would be Liberty. His species survived the great hunt. In my mind I think 'how could they?' No longer clarion calls and dogs barking mad, with horses milling around. No more port in the stirrup cup, a civilised gesture before barbarity. But, back to my old friend the fox, it appears he is no longer feral although domesticated? certainly not. somewhere in between perhaps. I love the way those piercing eyes gleam in the dark, who knows how we are perceived? Each night we carefully watch each other. It is a distant friendship communication by way of food. Pixabay image by rottonara