The Red Fox
After the blizzard, a thick coated winter, red fox
like a bonfire in the middle of pure white.
We stare at each other. We do not pretend
to be camouflaged, neither of us move.
Our eyes lock in a gaze of almost understanding.
It’s a bitter morning, winds whip-
There is no relief, no certainty in any direction of the compass.
The wind cries through the barren trees,
scoring the land with an orchestrating blanket of deep snow.
Somewhere in caves, bears hibernate,
Hidden among this land animals of all sorts ride hard winter out.
The foxes eyes meet the lonely, tearful eyes of my own. Eyes
Move forward. Not yet, there’s something about waiting and riding out hard winter.
Such a long season, winter never hurrays like the other seasons.
It takes it’s time, makes you learn to adapt, feel all feelings until there is no more
feelings to burrow from.
Carrion crows squawk and stab the morning silence.
On top of a tree, the stab of a bright red male Cardinal,
allowing his color to sing in the frosty landscape.
The fox has not moved. It is said foxes can communicate with the spirit world.
Encountering one is meant to remind you of how capable you are.
This fox stares deep inside me. I nod.
I understand the need to keep moving through the whipping snow,
the blizzards of my heart, the winter that won’t end until
I see it’s purpose and agree.