Where was my Camera?

I am furious with myself.  Yesterday the sun enticed me to open the patio windows, pull over my chair to face it and kick off my slippers.  Reading my book I suddenly thought that I would enjoy it much more and less guiltily if I did the washing-up first.  Up to my wrists in soapy water a movement in the garden caught my attention.

On the freshly naissant grass, bright and newly green, nourished and encouraged by the Spring sun, crouched the fox.  His coat was healthy and sleek, glinting reddish gold, his eyes bright and alert, his tail bushy.  He was leisurely gnawing at his prize, my slipper.  As I moved carefully to stand in the doorway he looked at me no more than casually.  It was a picture that will stay in my mind.  It was a picture I wanted to share with Gather.  As the thought entered my mind I remembered that my camera was filmless.

Leaving the door open I ran upstairs to search but came down defeated.  There, in front of me was the fox, poised to take the second slipper. We stood.  He looked at me and I at him.  Our eyes met.  "You're not taking it unless I have a camera" I thought.  His eyes dropped.  He backed away and slowly walked the length of my garden before jumping the fence and disappearing out of sight.

I'm sorry folks, the only picture I can send you is in words.