Fox

Early morning, waking my daughter for school, I see a fox through her upstairs window, dashing across the lawn, darting between the trampoline and compost pile, and disappearing behind the apple tree, down into the honeysuckle.

It’s been a long while since I’ve seen a fox, one of these brushy-tailed beauties.

I remember years ago, having a prolonged discussion with my children’s father, in a car parked at the foot of our road, down by the river. We were there so long, verbally going around and around, that the dusk settled in. Three foxes appeared from the dim landscape, weaving around our car. We sat there, watching, until that family disappeared.

Even further back, my five-year-old and I saw a silvery fox one winter afternoon. I was driving home on our back road, and we stopped. The fox leaped on a high snowbank and sat there. The day was brilliantly sunny, full of sparkling fresh snow and cold. The fox was so beautiful we might have imagined her, had both of us not seen her.

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By Brett Ann Stanciu

Brett Ann Stanciu lives with her two daughters in Hardwick, Vermont. Her creative nonfiction book, Unstitched: My Journey to Understand Opioid Addiction and How People and Communities Can Heal, will be published by Steerforth Press in September 2021. Her novel about rural life in Vermont, Hidden View, was published in 2015.

2 comments

  1. Funny – I also spotted a fox the other day – weird in this urban neighborhood. And he looked mangy and sick – limping fast across my friend’s yard. I like you fox images better.

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