By Knuckles Runyon
Staff Writer
He’s in the road. He is, she is. There is only one and I am not certain he is a he but I am calling him a he. He seems like a he to me.
It's sometime after sunset. I see his silhouette from some distance away.
I am on the last walk of the day. Later than usual. It’s a comfortable night. Short sleeves, short pants. The world is dark green and the porch lights are on.
There are so many rabbits out in the evenings now. But that isn’t his shape. More like a cat. Yet immediately this figure registers in the old noggin’ as “not cat.” I pick up the pace. I am compelled to find out.
What. Is. That?
He sits in the road. I leave the sidewalk and enter the road. There are few cars to worry about in this neighborhood at night.
I am close enough to see. Sure enough, he has the teepee ears. The face made for running. That long tail that could slap you upside. Except this guy is small. I don’t know how large a fox should be but he seems strikingly slender, thought not, to my novice eyes, sickly. He’s either a pup or long for a meal. Maybe he’s both.
He goes ahead. I go ahead.
He turns around. I stop. He knows I’m onto him.
He runs. No far. I scurry. (Yes, I can.)
He turns down a block. I trail him.
He stands behind a telephone pole. I wait.
He digs his snout into the grass. Maybe he’s looking for a mouse. He chews on something less substantial than a mouse.
I stand there. What, it occurs to me, am I doing stalking this fox?
I merely want to bear witness. That is all. That is enough.
Something about crossing paths with a fox deepens one's connection to the world. It’s not too much to say it’s a thrill, the sort you cannot not be present for. I also I feel a tinge of melancholy. For I have always only seen foxes, the few times I have seen them, alone. Given the smallness of their deep-set eyes — like that of raccoons, and, come to think of it, I saw a big, sad racoon last night — give the impression, too, that they are lonely. This is may well be an anthropomorphic bias, as foxes do form families and stay close to their packs during mating season. Besides, here I am, taking my own damn self out on a stroll through the neighborhood. Here I am enjoying the evening air solo. Why would a fox not also roam about for its own pleasure?
Foxes are such beautiful creatures. Even if in the dark I can’t clearly see this red fox’s orange fur, my old eyes can feel his beauty.
The fox now scampers into a backyard. It's as if suddenly he knows where he's going. I turn in the other direction to go home.
A couple is on their porch watching a different kind of show than the one that just played out feet from their front door. A screen flashes in the night.
I wave. A man waves back.
“There’s a fox out here!” I interrupt their show. But briefly. Probably, they thought I was a wacko. They go on watching. I go on walking.
If you search the Interweb, you can, of course, find plenty of sources for symbolism and meaning of the fox, a creature that appears on all but one continent and has inspired lore and legend across millennia. Cunning. Cleverness. Resilience. Independence. Playfulness. Protection. Good luck. These are among the traits a fox encounter is said to reveal that, at this moment, speak to me — that I want to believe say something about me and where I am. Of course, this momentary meeting could amount to nothing more than a coincidence of the sort that places any two creatures on the same street in the same city at the same time. Maybe it’s enough not to make more — or less — of it than that. I am drawn to symbolism. It also happens to be that to reduce this creature to a symbol for my own edification is to do less than honor its presence. Animals are different than humans. That doesn't make them lesser.
On the sidewalk back I encounter another couple. They are walking home from dinner. He carries the leftovers and she pets a cat that isn’t her own. I tell the couple about the fox. Just so I can tell somebody. I want someone else to know this fox is alive. I want someone to know he stirred something in me.
I suppose you could say that’s the reason for this post — to tell you, too.
