The Fox and His Mate
He ran alone with windblown hair,
the fox in the dusky dim lit eve.
His brown tail followed with a flailing flair,
as his instinct preferred him to duck and weave.
The path was the same as any other day,
from sleeping hole to drinking stream.
Ever on the watch for some tasty prey,
and for all else a simple fox would dream.
But the summer season had neared its close,
and something new began to stir.
A feeling of longing and a tinge in his nose,
an unusual warmth beneath his fur.
He arrived at the stream and sniffed at the ground,
curious to learn who came and went.
He decided it futile once he searched all around,
so loped to the stream to wash his own scent.
Bending down cautiously to lap up his fill,
his rough coat glimmering beneath the moon,
the bubbling water that never stood still
revealed the passing of an unaware loon.
Perhaps it was the setting of the summer’s ending sun,
or the way the breezes shifted, coolly wending from the north.
But neither did he pounce after the floating bit of fun,
nor did the fox desire to in any way set forth.
Instead he bent his head again to tilt it at the brook,
a suspected sadness settling in like dusk turning to dark.
What lonely wavering forlorn soul returned his distant look?
How true was the reflection of the silhouette so stark?
Pausing just a moment for his simple mind to think,
the scraggly fox glanced upward as the floating loon moved on.
Barking once half-hearted as he stood at the stream’s brink,
he regretted for once he’d been unseen now that his chance was gone.
He shook himself of these strange feelings,
for what need of self-respect had he?
So he swam, dismissed other dealings,
and tried to believe all was as it should be.
Nevertheless as he ran, ate, and slept,
the lanky brown fox remained empty and bleak.
No more taking joy at what he was adept,
he found his mind lost deciding what he should seek.
Yet one day while in the part of fall still warm,
crisp and dry remained the air in a sunny meadow green,
he ran through shaded fallen leaves wet from a prior storm,
and set foot in the dry meadow he had only ever seen.
What was this upon a log his eyes spied so pristine?
Unmistakably a watchful red-haired vixen now distraught.
He slowed sensing she wondered what this new presence could mean.
So he circled with a decoy sniff to buy some time for thought.
What a lovely sight the well preened vixen made upon her bough.
Perhaps they might become friends if her judgement would allow.
She laid upon him shamelessly her sharply piercing eyes,
and noting it he met her stare, shedding his disguise.
With smile and perked ears he moved to sit neatly,
his tongue lolled ever so slightly,
and before her stiff form he looked up at her sweetly,
charming eyes blinking once brightly.
It was such a fine thing she had not yet fled,
as most other wood dwellers did.
She seemed intrigued by the tilt of her head,
of this one she was not easily rid.
Absently starting to thump his tail,
she stretched out to lay and watch him amused.
And just so her interest would not fail,
he entertained her with tricks he had often used.
She began to relax while he rolled and spun,
her own hanging tail beginning to swing.
A blurry brown dervish having so much fun.
What next would this unexpected act bring?
Then on an impulse he darted away,
glancing back hoping that she might come with.
The caution and doubt that had held her at bay,
now seemed so silly like a well believed myth.
So newly inspired she soon followed after,
the fox showing her his small world.
They traveled and tussled and shared silent laughter,
as quickly their affections unfurled.
Feraeond Foxrunner "The Alone Ranger" Content
- 16 years, 11 months, 20 days ago
