An Encounter with Pagan Metal

Except that what I heard then were no musical notes. These were sounds of the earth. Crackling; slowly rumbling; like a fissure opening up on the ocean floor; or a mountain growing, or a volcano awakening after millennia of stillness. The music had not even started that I was already captivated.

What Time is It, Mr. Fox?

Looking at the footage of his run, he seemed to be chasing for fun instead of hunger, trotting with his head held high instead of moving low and fast. I wondered if he had, perhaps, already eaten. I wondered if foxes sometimes hunt for play.