Rehearsing the eremocene Matt Gilbert

Matt Gilbert

Rehearsing the eremocene

Too early for the school run, I went the long way round, via an accidental field, hemmed between two housing blocks, where by the bins, a mangy fox was heckled by a pair of ink-sketch crows, tetchily intent on never sharing the dappled promise of a small round patch of sun

I arrived and all the other creatures turned, gave me the wild cold-shoulder, quit the scene together, with a knowing roll of eyes, leaving me to face the longest lonely, at least till three o’ clock, when I’d be relieved by a tumble of screeching children, frothing out of iron gates, like liquid from a shaken can, then briefly re-united, with a single still small hand.