Hymn to an unexpected otter

An otter at a bus station

Is clearly in want of a punchline.

 

He might have been whimsy personified,

With top hat and cane, descending.

We knew he’d alight in Stroud,

The place is a byword for such fancies.

 

He might have been a metaphor,

Wild nature, back from the brink,

Dark pelt in yellowed street light,

Away to the secret urban stream.

 

The otter at the bus stop

Speaking to life’s absurdities,

Uncertainties, and little wonders

Before an elegant exit.

 

He may have been a God

In water resistant fur,

Sprung from the fabric of night

To re-enchant us all.

 

An otter at the bus station

Waiting for his punchline.

Probably three will turn up at once.

 

(This is based on something that happened – it was definitely a dog otter based on size, which is why I’ve gendered him, he was indeed very close to the bus station in Stroud, just passing through, as dog otters tend to do. We were very close, briefly, and it was wholly surprising.)

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About Nimue Brown

Druid, author, dreamer, folk enthusiast, parent, wife to the most amazing artist -Tom Brown. Drinker of coffee, maker of puddings. Exploring life as a Pagan, seeking good and meaningful ways to be, struggling with mental health issues and worried about many things. View all posts by Nimue Brown

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