There’s something going on with hedgehogs. Jumping through windows, spines shining silver-mauve. Or wheeling broccoli florets down a dark path. Quite smoothly.
I do believe they’re my armoured protection. For my soft underbelly. I need their spikes, just in case.
We can come out dancing now, you and me. Wheeling in the moonlight to the strains of a military band. A little distant and, of course, marching away from us.
by Cath Barton of Abergavenny
