Standing on my hind legs, I bark at the sky, splashing saliva onto the ground at my feet. That sky, it’s populated by white dots and a rock bearing the face of God, and behind my animal eyes, the nature of all things reveal themselves to me. From the other side of the veil, the essence of life dances with the magic of death, and when I stick out my tongue, I taste everything. As the other foxes circle around, I stand there raising my paws trying to touch my maker; trying to return from where I came, for now, more than ever, I understand my place, and my place is out there, somewhere among the stars. Removed from my human form, the need to be human isn’t there at all. And yet amidst the chaos and wild beauty of my transformation, there’s something else. I can smell it in the air. Can smell it on each and every strand of hair in my coat of fur. It’s in the sounds of the falling raindrops, and it’s in the mud beneath my paws and between each of my claws. Ceasing my act, I snap at the others to be quiet, and when they do, in the silence that falls among us, it’s her song that carries in the breeze. I’ve changed beyond recognition, and yet still her beauty calls to me the same as it always has. It’s as natural as the trees. An ingredient of this life the same as fire and air. Closing my eyes, I sniff. There’s so much more to smell than there was before. And yet I pick her out with ease. Turning to my fox, he sniffs the same as me and nods as if reading my mind. The urge to have a cigarette is overwhelming. Not much chance of that happening though. Growling, I dig my front paws into the ground and jump for a bit showing my displeasure. Barking at me, my boy leads the way, and with that, we leave the others behind to a caterwaul of goodbyes. Are they just like me? Outsiders who made the transition? In their eyes I sense something. Some kind of otherness. A hint of recognition not between those of the same species, but those of the same soul stuff. With their cries ringing out above the woods, the night opens like a mouth swallowing me and the boy like a shot of spirits, the kind that burns in the belly like a juicy secret.
A Journal for Damned Lovers UK
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