I arrived at the allotment yesterday at my usual time of just before three. Despite the warm sunshine, sugared blue sky and gentle breeze I felt troubled, nagged by fears that jabbed at me unexpectedly, like the gooseberry thorns and stinging nettles which line the plot's tumble-down fence.
Steady digging helped, as did the repetitive acts of weeding, clearing and walking the buckets of tough roots up to the communal compost heaps by the site entrance. But still the thoughts whispered, skittering past like Saturday Morning Western tumble weeds, scratching as they brush by.
I worked on until, startled by a sudden movement, I froze. Only yards away stood a city fox, head hunkered down slightly, front paw raised in anticipation of his next step. We stared at each other, his beautiful toffee-apple eyes holding mine in neither a questioning nor challenging manner. After a moment he simply turned and trotted off, his surprisingly handsome coat and thick brush rich against the lush spring grass. More country fox than city.
After a while I realised that he'd taken my afternoon fears with him; as if I'd passed the baton over, or it had simply melted in the late afternoon sun. I paused and thought about my own animals at home and decided to grow some carrots for the rabbits. They don't actually like carrots, but they're in heaven with the tops.
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