THE NEW FOX IN MY LIFE: A DESPATCH (SIC) FROM CORONAVIRUS LOCKDOWN.

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.