I was walking along Mill Lane tonight when there was a sudden
and very loud rustling in the hedgerow. I shone the torch around but saw
nothing, and then I heard the sound of wing beats. I subsequently assumed it
must have been a pheasant, because the only bird that flies at night at this
time of year is the owl, and the wing beats of an owl are all but silent. What
was interesting was that it didn’t only startle me, it also frightened me
briefly, and here’s why:
I do occasionally get startled when I disturb a pheasant
roosting in a nearby tree, but they always break cover before I reach them. It’s
my approach that causes them to do so, and it doesn’t induce fear because I
know immediately that it’s something escaping me. Tonight’s little incident was
different; I heard the noise behind
me. That means that whatever it was waited for me to pass before breaking out,
and the instinctive response in that case is to assume that something is
attacking from behind.
Makes sense, doesn’t it? I’m sure it’s something stored in
the genes, or one of Jung’s archetypes contained in the collective unconscious:
the wild assailant. Did he forget that one? I’m not knowledgeable enough to
know.
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