Skyroad

By Skyroad

Where Mr Fox Lives (Follow The Arrow)

I knew I should have brought my camera with me when I went to pick up the wean. On the way to his school, taking the usual shortcut, I spotted an animal sitting outside one of the houses. Foxes aren't unusual of course, but in such a busy suburb, in the middle of the afternoon, I would have expected any fox that crossed my path to be skulking into a drive or leaping over a gate. Whereas this one looked so feline and utterly composed, so unruffled and already in its own picture, that my brain at first didn't process what it was. Then I did a double-take and realised it wasn't budging. So I pulled in and hopped out with my iPhone, expecting it to have already done its vanishing trick. Instead, it allowed me to get within 15 feet or so before slowly turning and trailing its brush into what might have been its own drive; apparently with reluctance, as if I had exceeded my novelty value.

When I talk to my creative writing students about cutting back on the adjectives, I often borrow a phrase I came across: a noun is a unit of power. And the example I give is a simple phrase: a tiger stood in the drive. If you add adjectives (a big, colourful, fierce-looking, etc.) they weaken and dilute the phrase because they move you farther from the arresting fact of a tiger being in the drive. Foxes are not quite tigers, but this one was surprising enough, a cindery burn in the memory.



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