recognition
Behold, the vixen assembles herself for devotion.
Yes, we believe this fine creature to be a female of the species. Our
relationship started this way. She presents herself and I devote myself to her
presentation. She’s in no hurry to be foxy; she’s quite foxy as it is. She
encounters tens of twenties of twos of persons, while I typically encounter but
one vulpine soul. Yes, we are socially distancing ourselves properly in the
Coronavirus era, but we always begin with this moment of recognition on the
grassy, grassy lea.
aloofness
In this stage of the vixen-human devotional, the
fox asserts her aloofness. A person could outfox another person, a fox could
outfox a person, a fox could outfox another fox, but a person will never outfox
a fox, how could he? He is not the fox. She is the fox, and she is, oh yes,
fundamentally aloof. She knows the damage that a pelt-monger could cause, and
she won’t become fodder for a pre-barbaric line in a Tennessee Williams play. [In
Brando nasal voice:] “Where are your fox-pieces, Stella?” Lo, she will
endure.
the chase is on
The fox is low to the ground. Why does this
matter? Because there are roots and limbs, god dammit, there are creeks and
banks. Have I taken a tumble? Yes, I have tumbled into the freaking creek! Would
you believe me if I said that the fox waited for me? A fellow can grow quite
emotional in such a moment. Sitting there, in the chilly muck, wondering just
what in the Jiminy Cricket he is doing with his life, but there sitteth the
vixen, beautiful and vigilant. Would you believe me if I said that we ran
through the foxgloves together? Well, you shouldn’t. I have no idea what
foxgloves look like. But we have run together side by side, the fox and I.
coda
There may be more foxes before long. I know this because I’ve seen a second fox: le renard. He looked as if he were wearing silk pajamas, and he is, and he deserves every single bit of that glorious feeling, the lucky guy.
coda
There may be more foxes before long. I know this because I’ve seen a second fox: le renard. He looked as if he were wearing silk pajamas, and he is, and he deserves every single bit of that glorious feeling, the lucky guy.
8 comments:
My first night in London, back in December, maybe about 7 p.m. I saw a fox cross the street in front of the house where I was staying. A busy neighborhood near a canal.
Nice post! There's a fox in our neighborhood who regularly walks down our 6+foot high privacy fence, then leaps down and prowls the back yard. My wife has even seen it leap up to the top of the fence in a single bound!
I hope all's well . . .
The fox is infiltrating our societies. Perhaps the English tolerate the fox a little bit more than we do? 7pm sounds about right. That's usually when I see my new friend! --BA
Hey Ted, glad to hear that you've got a fox in your life, too. It's a dog, but it has catlike actions! Keep well, my friend! --BA
My aunt once claimed that her precious cat was chased--hunted--by a fox "the size of a German shepherd". This elusive Mega-Fox has never been seen since. Yes, my aunt is wise, she practiced Tai Chi in a pre-virus world on the "grassy lea" at the local Center, but now she's an amateur cryptozoologist, I guess. That's a big fkn fox, eh?
Hahahahaha, that's a big fckn fox, although maybe that big fckn fox was a coyote! Mega-Fox. That's when Mega marries Fox. Tai Chi is when Tai marries Chi. Where is elusive in all of this? I suppose that every critter has elusive heritage, myself included. Glad to hear that you and your aunt are safe and healthy, my friend. --BA
There is a fox in my neighborhood. I saw him first in the Metro parking lot, and some time later just sauntering down the street. Then I heard he got a job guarding a henhouse.
putting a fox in charge of a hen house? i think that's a union job. the roostiz (sic) -- the peckers! -- were nowhere to be found. it's a sad tale, except for the fox, of course. and there's the rub, aye. in all seriousness, i hope that you and susan are well, my friend. all best wishes. --b.a.
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