Mushroom Season
Mrs Fox woke up; chanterelle mushrooms filled her thoughts, oozing deliciousness onto hot toast. She crept from under the satin-stitched eiderdown, and, pulling a warm dress to her, slid past Mr Fox and down the stairs of Foxes’ Retreat. Reaching into the tall, steely refrigerator, she took out the delicate stems of chantarelles, and placed them on the wooden chopping board ready for their breakfast.
The horses stamped and whinnied from their stables, hearing Mrs Fox moving in the kitchen. She slipped through and nuzzled each one before giving them their feed buckets. Contented munching filled the barn, and Mrs Fox picked up the dogs’ breakfasts on the way back to the kitchen.
The cherry-red kettle clicked off, filling the corner of the kitchen with the heady aroma of Italian coffee as Mrs Fox prepared Mr Fox a hot drink for whilst his breakfast was prepared….
… the woodland taste mingled with herbs freshly cut from the Foxes’ garden, the egg oozing over the tangle of chantarelles piled on the hot toasts. A gentle mumuring sound pervaded the kitchen as the Foxes tucked in.
Mr Fox headed off to do Important Technical Things, and Mrs Fox sat down to consider her day. The horses, dogs, cats and chickens were fed, and all looked gloomy at the heavy rain. Mrs Fox had an important meeting this morning, and climbed the steep wooden stairs to her wardrobe room to decide what to wear. It was difficult, she thought, to choose something for this.
Business like? No.
Bohemian? No.
Creative? Yes, but….. also not too extreme.
Extreme Creativeness, pondered Mrs Fox. A thing for the Playa, definitely, but not for an editorial meeting. Mrs Fox tried on a flirty red dress over a warm black top. Hm. No. Too silly, thought Mrs Fox, pursing her lips. She wandered back to the rails… ah! A warm plum woollen dress peeked out at the end of the rail. That’s it! She thought, and collected a jazzy, colourful jacket to pop over the top.
Heading out into the heavy rain, Mrs Fox remembered to flatten her ears, with her new purple hat, and to hide her tail inside her jacket. It would not do, she thought to herself, to be seen as a wild animal. Not today.
The venue was closed.
Mrs Fox sighed, and sent a re-direction message to the Editor. She drove up the hill to the next café, and settled in with a bowl of hot black coffee. Firing up her laptop to check communications, Mrs Fox heard a drowning whirr. The lights dimmed, the tills beeped a final beep, and the café goers fell silent. The power was off, the room was dim, and Mrs Fox was unable to connect to the world outside the café. Momentarily, she looked around, feeling that she had had a wasted journey. But then, realising the delight of not knowing what was happening in the political outside world, she opened a new document. Oh yes, she thought, this was the perfect opportunity to warm up her writing…. Oh, it had been too long, she thought, fingers flicking over the keyboard as she began her story….