A fox goes by in the headlights like an electric shock.
Then he pauses at the edge of the road
and the heart, if it is still alive,
feels something--a yearning for which we have no name
but which we may remember, years later, in the darkness,
upon some other empty road.
Then he pauses at the edge of the road
and the heart, if it is still alive,
feels something--a yearning for which we have no name
but which we may remember, years later, in the darkness,
upon some other empty road.
One time upon a blizzard impacted remote road in Alaska a fox stopped dead center in the road ahead of my van. It was hard at first to see who it was given the blowing snow, but as the fox did not move I was able to get quite close. Almost upon the wild one, I wondered if he or she had been hit by a car or was sick, or like the rest of us on this journey, sticking to the road like a prayer that would keep us out of ditch and doom. The fox began to trot and moved with me for a while down the road. It felt a loss when the beauty finally decided to pause by the side of the road, and as I went on my way north, I could see the fox staring at me through the rear view mirror.
Looking back now, I still see those eyes, whispering through snow dusted whiskers - I am with you, you do not journey alone.
Who journeys with you?
:)
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