I Begin Again

This time, as a fox.  Each day is a new one, after all.


I saw fox in a window, and despite him being urban, irresponsible, admired him.


"Thought Fox," I thought.


He is orange, bold, corduroy.  I bought him for myself.  Called him Foxy.  Call her Vixen.


My affection for stuffed toys is rational, goes back a long way.


When I was 7, I saw the dolphin on a stall at Christ Church Highbury's annual Garden Party.   He was red, bold, corduroy.  When I returned, with insufficient pocket money, to admire him again, he had disappeared.  He re-appeared on my bed that evening.


That was when I knew for sure that my mother loved me.