From the You Cannot Make This Sh** Up Category.
This morning all I can think is 'I'd love to see that balletic fox I encountered a couple of days ago again'. I know the faultiness of returning this way. Things never repeat themselves but still that crone-voiced muse insists, Go. I park my car and walk, camera ready this time. The field is quiet but for the flitting of all the songbirds I am displacing. The sun rises above the harbor but beneath the bridge from this vantage.
No fox, of course.
I return to my car but at the foot of the fox path left from the other day I find this.
I kid you not.
A dog toy in the shape of a....fox.
Complete with eviscerated squeaker.
The scene transforms. You would see a crazy woman bent over at first light by the river...examining her fox. Literally laughing out loud. Literally. She looks around to see if god is somehow hidden behind a bush just waiting for the moment.
Oh, Lord, you do have such a great sense of humor.
I'll be more specific next time.