The Celebration of Mister Fox…

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I never knew Holmfirth in the days of Mill Workers and clogs.

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I really got to know her in the Post Industrial gloom of swish Cafe Bars and cosy restaurants, all day drinking parties frequented by the nouveau riche, who leaped from still moving taxis, done up to the nines,  dressed to kill.

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But up on the hill something feral was stirring.

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Something ancient and unsought.

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As lazy cars crawled through the tight streets held up by roaming party-goers soft parading an unsteady path from the park…

And the drinkers sang loudly in the heat with rabid mouths foaming, never quite finding the beat…

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A beast was about to be unleashed in the dark…

One thought on “The Celebration of Mister Fox…

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