I began to find glory in the presence of foxes on Summer evenings. There scavenging beneath my balcony, under security lights of the garden, was an adopted secret that only my eyes witnessed. In the close dark of July I mimicked their cries to enticed them closer. Such beautiful things seen by others as an invasion, a screeching territorial pest. There were two that visited nightly; a skinny female and a fatter, brighter coloured cub with a tail so thick I longed for it to brush my bare feet. I named them Fritha and Frith after a girl in a story and a trapeze teacher that had changed my life and become a story. The foxes were from another place too where nature reigned above the concrete boxes we rented and sulked within.