surrey hill circle - 06/30/26
LON --> GOD
three foxes on ogygia - 07/31/26
Around 11pm, I was feeling restless, tired enough to sleep, but tense, so I thought I would unwind by going out for a walk. Running between cars, I saw them. A ragtag group of foxes. Two of which were young as their tails looked thin and under developed, but they had energy.
They trooped around together, diverging and re-joining, yelping for the others loudly while jumping over brick walls to escape the gaze of a nearby dog. I supposed they were looking for food, but it seemed too like they might simply be having fun, entertaining the dog’s delusions that it might catch them, but maybe he was in on the joke too.
By the library, I came within 3 feet of the largest in the group. It was an older fox with a full tail and thick orange fur, approaching me from behind. As I saw it walk up from the corner of my eye, I slowly knelt down, and rested there at its eye level, frozen, hoping to put it at ease.
By now I knew not to fret over foxes because they weren’t aggressive creatures. They are curious and daring, sure, but definitely not dangerous. The fox sniffed at my back as it closed the gap between us. We exchanged eye contact over my left shoulder. A few more moments of this and it ran off into the night, light-footed and soundless. I held the feeling in the mind.
Earlier that day, I’d watched Christopher Nolan’s rendition of The Odyssey, which had left me in a cloudy headspace. The portions on Calypso’s Ogygia caused me to wonder whether I might be lost on a dessert island. I saw symbolic parallels to my own path in that of Odysseus’ who had washed up there on his way home from the battle of Troy; his memory eluding him.
I saw aspects of my urban life as a captive environment I’d chosen to live inside in exchange for access. Was it true or was I being unnecessarily cynical? Was London and the vague spoils of its contemporary art world holding me back from something or was it my own construction?
It was true that I was growing tired of the city. I craved the smell of pine needles now and thought about white water rapids moving along mossy river banks. I longed for the freedom of mobility out in the country, to wander off paved roads, where space was abundant. I cared a lot less about the conveniences I’d grown accustomed to. What had once felt exciting and full of potential had turned hollow now with its incessant clamouring.
As I walked back to my rented bedroom in NW2, I thought about those three foxes in the road.
They weren’t exactly wild, but they were feral. I wanted that. I wanted to scavenge and explore in the night as they did. I wanted to hunt...