The Fox (Nostalgia)


In evenings, just when the first darkness falls and humans not sleep yet and he’s just began his nightly round, since his growling intestines forces him out from one of his temporary hiding places, he becomes standing for a moment behind a branch of a fir’s skirt and enquiring stare across the plain to the house at the small hill where windows are lit – and sudden another hunger and a dim memory tear him up and a longing comes over him of what was his once on a borrowed time, as once as a puppy he was saved by those two-legs strangers when his mother was shot dead and he became raised and cuddled with like a pet until he’d grown and it was time for him to go back to his solitary and wild destiny, hunt and be hunted, kill and be killed. Killed for his righteous purpose to feed himself, killed unrighteous for his beautiful red fur, hated for being him and admired and envied for  being him, it all beyond his ability to comprehend. Sometimes at such instants it comes over him a longing for the tame life, the ready-served meat bone life, but only for a very short worrying moment. Then is heard the scream from a vixen in the forest behind him and he instantly turn around and slip away, following his instinct and instantly forgetting that feeling not belonging to the species that’s his.


This entry was posted in animal rights, Attraction, fictional story, memories, past, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, prose poem, roots, Short prose and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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