I met a fox the other day.

The most idyllic of days; spent sweeping my heart away . Lost like a fox's footprints in the snow trailing off to into the woods, dense and deep.

"Pardon?", I say.
I could have sworn I heard a voice. Perhaps it was the sound of a fallen branch, or maybe a sparrow in the distance.

"Sir, please move swiftly, I must be on my way." The fox mumbles, as he trots off.

On he goes, in sing-song:
"Brambles and brooks, lily of the valley, and owlish looks; don't cross my path. I'm not the sort you read of in old folklore books. There will be no feeding from your palm, I won't remain still; & I will, I repeat I will not promise to mercifully kill."

Despair of disparity?
Certainly, no. He is not my friend, nor is he my foe. The fox is a creature of habit, like me, like us all.


  1. The only animal i saw on the entire drive was a baby fox sitting at the side of the highway i thought instantly of this and you.

  2. oh my goodness.