Alexi Francis tempts a shy neighbour with a warm egg.

It is the dark time of the year and there’s a fire aglow in the orchard; I hear fox. 

As evening slides into night, I put on my coat and head out into the street. The night is sepia and a sleepy half-moon rests its belly upon the chimney pots of the houses opposite. 

Down the passageway between the houses, the diamonds of a chainlink fence gleam with a slick, snake-like sheen; the scent of cooking, cumin and coriander on the air. 

I wait. 

In my pocket I clutch the warm shape of an egg, a simple offering. The pathway meets a quiet road of Edwardian houses, gables dark and brooding; half opened eyes. A pause. Shadows shape themselves into the form of a fox.  At least I believe I see her, the night deceives. Shadows flicker. I creep a little closer. I place my egg on the kerb and step back into a privet hedge.

She cowers with a little guilt, a morsel of shame. She is so hungry; she needs me, but doesn’t want me there. A pregnant space hangs between us.

A dream comes to me.

Downland. A path of white chalk threads like a toothy smile over the contours. I am on the edge somewhere stalking fox. I feel invisible, phantom-like, crouching and hovering in some liminal space. Ears pricked, I listen. The fabric of reality is taut but thin and our two lives intertwine. A gnawing sensation grips my stomach, my limbs tense, my nose twitches. 

Back on the street there is a bang; a young couple climb into a car, talking. Another car door slams. Fox is still there. She flinches, shakes out a leg. She’s at the kerb; in one swift move she takes the egg in her mouth and is gone.

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Taken from Alexi’s beautifully illustrated book ‘Dusk, Night, Dawn: Encounters with the Natural World’, available now via her Etsy page (£8.00).