Tables turned on those beastly hunters in a Vulpine Valhalla

The time eventually comes for us all to shuffle off this mortal coil and go to whatever waits for us beyond the curtain.

This applies to animals as well and I am sorry to say that I believe my brave pal Hopalong, a foxy visitor to my garden since late October, has hopped off on three legs for the final time.

I feel sure that he has crossed the burning rainbow bridge to the Vulpine Valhalla where he can sleep during the day and come out at night to hunt people dressed in red coats and jodhpurs.

The video above is one that might explain how Hopalong survived for so long, I first noticed he had a limp late October/early November and from then on it seemed to get worse and worse until the lower section of his rear leg was useless as it just dangled as he walked.

These two videos show that he appears to have a friend who kept an eye on him. This fox still visits the garden but I have not seen Hopalong since these videos were taken, in late January,.

Hopalong’s friend, and another fox I call Scaredycat, still visit my garden and for all I know they might be joined by others. Maybe they will partner up, if they haven’t already done so, and will bring their cubs to show them a regular feeding spot,

I hope so and I hope their parents will tell them of brave Hopalong who survived for three months in the winter with the use of only three legs.

I’ll have to finish off the new feeding station for the hedgehogs in the next couple of days as they’ll need some feeding up after their winter sleep.

The Crown of Straw

by Mihai Usachi

A ball of clay launched in violence from a blind slingshot,
this globe of pain hurtles far into chaos,
bearing my love; What good,
elaborate lute songs? What good,
magniloquent twilight of violet hues?
The voice on the face of the waters
you don't hear, don't believe, don't speak about.

Behold my ancestor's patch of earth; here they ploughed
ten thousand years, here their gentle oxen drowned in clay
at the foot of the skies. May they rest in peace,
the gentle ones, may the eternally restless find their peace.
Their field is azure, stars their grain;
but a crown of straw,  a wreath of nonredemption, adorns my brow.

A restless plummeting into the unplumbed precipice
of the sky . . . What good,
the dizzy drunkenness of the forest in bloom? What good,
the fiery madness of an impossible thought?
Oh, won't these eyes ever open upon
their salvations? Never
will I cease to love the impossible.
A crown of straw adorns my head.

With boundless love, the abyss
swallows me, the abyss embraces
this sphere, which is
His tear.

The weeping on the face of the waters
you don't hear, don't believe, don't talk about

translated by Adam J Sorkin, Georgiana Faragoa

Grey Hairs

by Marina Tsvetaeva

These are ashes of treasures:
Of hurt and loss.
These are ashes in face of which
Granite is dross.
Dove, naked and brilliant,
It has no mate.
Solomon's ashes
Over vanity that's great.
Time's menacing chalkmark,
Not to be overthrown
Means God knocks at the door
- Once the house has burned down!
Not checked yet by refuse,
Days' and dreams' conqueror
Like a thunderbolt - Spirit
Of early grey hair.
It's not you who've betrayed me
On the home front years.
This grey is the triumph
Of immortal powers.

A Fairy Song

by William Shakespeare

Over hill, over dale
Through bush, through brier,
Over park, over vale.
Through flood, through fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere
And I serve the Fairy Queen
To dew her orbs upon the green,
The cowslips tall her pensioners be,
In their gold coats spots you see,
These be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours,
I must go, seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

Change

by Kathleen Raine


Change
Said the sun to the moon,
You cannot stay.

Change
Says the moon to the waters,
All is flowing.

Change
Says the fields to the grass,
Seed-times and harvest,
Chaff and grain.

You must change,
Said the worm to the bud,
Though not a rose.

Petals fade
That wings may rise
Borne on the wind.

You are changing
Said death to the maiden, your wan face
To memory, to beauty

Are you ready to change?
Says the thought to the heart, to let her pass
All your life long

For the unknown, the unborn
In the alchemy
Of the world's dream?

You will change,
Says the stars to the sun,
Says the night to the stars.

Light Is More Important Than The Lantern

by Nizar Qabbani

Light is more important than the lantern,
The poem more important than the notebook,
And the kiss more important than the lips.
My letters to you
Are greater and more important than the both of us
They are the only documents
Where the people will discover
Your beauty
And my madness.

A Fairly Sad Tale

by Dorothy Parker

I think that I shall never know
Why am I thus, and I am so.
Around me, other girls inspire
In men the roar and rush of fire,
The sweet transparency of glass,
The tenderness of April grass,
The durability of granite;
But me - I don't know how to plan it.
The lads I've met in Cupid's deadlock
Were - shall we say - born out of wedlock.
They broke my heart, they stilled my song 
And said they had to run along,
Explaining, so to sop my tears,
First came their parents or careers.
But ever does experience
Deny me wisdom, calm and sense!
Though she's a fool who seeks to capture
The twenty-first fine, careless rapture,
I must go on, till ends my rope,
Who was from my birth was cursed with hope.
A heart in half is chaste, archaic;
But mine resembles a mosaic -
The thing's become ridiculous!
Why am I so? Why am I thus?

Who’s that man in the garden? Don’t worry it’s only me – or my dad

It’s been getting on for 30 years since I said my final farewell to my father, my last words to him were very simple, “I love you”.

I miss him every day.

No. That’s wrong.

I don’t miss him because he is with me every day.

This weekend I found he is with me more than I could have ever realised.

When I was a little boy family members who knew my father at that age used to say how much I looked like him. I couldn’t understand at the time how that was possible. He was twice as big as me and he had a moustache.

Over the years our appearances changed as we both grew older.

When his time came he was no longer the big boisterous father I had known throughout my childhood and teens. He wasn’t the somewhat older, but still boisterous father I had always been able to rely on for good advice and as helping hand when I needed it once I became a man.

Since he has gone I could still see him if I looked carefully in a mirror.

The older I got the more of his face and mannerisms I could see.

The point is that I could still see me there, I could also see my mother, just as when we three siblings meet again after long gaps I could see her in my sister and, in a strange way, in my brother.

Then the other day I was checking the memory card from my garden camera and running through the stills and images that had been taken from the previous day.

As I watched I suddenly saw my father in our garden.

Not a ghostly image, or a grainy evening, gloomy image.

This was mid-afternoon with plenty of light to show off the images.

He walked down the path and into the garage workshop, close to the wildlife feeding area. In the next video clip he came out of the garage and walked towards the camera, at which point the figure became me.

I must have gasped because Marion asked me what was wrong.

I told her as I showed her the video clip.

“That’s Dad,” I said.

“Everything about him, I mean me, in fact I’m not sure what I mean.”

“Of course it’s your Dad,” she said. “I’ve always seen him there.”

The point is I rarely see video of me. Ordinary family snaps yes but most of the time I have been the one taking them.

In this I was observing a figure in the background whose back bent slightly from waist to neck and whose head was slightly tilted forward. He leant slightly on a walking stick.

It was definitely my father.

I suppose just as Marion had always seen the two-in-one I had always seen him in my face, and felt his presence.

This does not mean I do not see my mother when I look in a mirror, or even at times my older brother. But at all times I am definitely my father’s son.

Fox

by Alice Oswald

I heard a cough
as if a thief was there
outside my sleep
a sharp intake of air

a fox in her fox-fur
stepping across
the grass in her black gloves
barked at my house

just so abrupt and odd
the way she went
hungrily asking
in the heart's thick accent

in such serious sleepless
trespass she came
a woman with a man's voice
but no name

as if to say: it's midnight
and my life
is laid beneath my children
like gold leaf

Always Marry An April Girl

by Ogden Nash

Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered langour,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true -
I love April, I love you.