Memory

It was then that the fox appeared. Hunching his hind legs, he was propelled to the top of the eight-foot wall and then with a second flick of those same legs he was over, landing in winter’s first snow inside the courtyard. I’m sure that he was as surprised to find himself in the enclosed space as I was to see a wild creature in the heart of Putney. He looked just like “the quick brown fox.” But in reality, he was probably hungry, foraging this far into the urban wilderness in search of food. And then he was gone. Making one rapid circuit of the yard he leapt again for the top of the wall and disappeared into memory.

Excerpt from the novella 'Hotel Paul.'