The Scarlet Ghost

Yesterday whilst delivering the rural post I stopped to gaze at a clump of snowdrops. They were nestled on the bank of a stream that was full of the recent rains. Hunkered down with their stems covered with the fallen leaves of autumn, their pure white heads nodded in the gentle breeze. A sign of better times ahead. There was a sudden gushing sound rather like that of a washing machine as it empties at the end of it’s cycle. Then out of the drainage pipe opposite me a sudden flurry of sticks and other debris cascaded out of the pipe and in to the fast flowing stream. Closely followed rather ungainly by a large dog fox. He stealthily leapt on to the bank, shook himself down, sniffed the air and turned to see me. His cold eyes fixed on mine. And there we were; no more than two yards apart. Two shocked males dressed in red wondering what would happen next. I marvelled at the fact that he neither had the right to fit down such an aperture nor the right to look so resplendent after such an entrance. I looked down to get my phone from my pocket. Just a seconds glance, no more. And he was gone. Silently melted away. Top dog. King Reynard. The scarlet ghost.