Foxglove

FROST was settling into the ground as I made my last rounds, and the dogs found an increase in scent as the earth chilled. What it must be, to experience the world through smells the way they do!

I, who experience my world chiefly through sight, could see the warm glow of the houses ahead as people put the finishing touches to their Christmases, and I thought of the scents of hot spices that might be there too.

The church stood high over the rest; there would be singing shortly, and that beautiful sound of church bells as the days crossed over. For me, the fields and woods were my church, and the sky my vault: I had all I needed.

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Everything in had been fed, watered and bedded down: everything out had been checked. The fences were sound, and there was yet only a skin of ice on the troughs. It would be different in a few hours.

The dogs raised their heads and their hackles as an eddy of warm scent reached us, for ahead as I looked, a fox had unkennelled and was setting off on his rounds as I was coming back from mine

He was a fine fellow, coat so full that he was almost long-coated, fluffed up against the cold. He was the far side of the rife, heading for the small wood. I hoped he would find his supper there rather than in someone's poultry yard.

For full feature see West Sussex Gazette December 27

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