It wasn't one of those romantic and expectation rich Gucci mornings with hallelujah uplift clouds drenching us mortals in celestial light. Nah, it was more of a no nonsense Dickies dawn. Dark. Growing lighter. Sun rises above the horizon. Done.
I pulled into a parking lot close to the bridge spanning the Fore River deciding on next locations.
That's when I saw the head of a woodchuck pop up from the tall grass and my thought was 'Damn that's the tallest woodchuck Ive ever seen.'
Only the fuzzy woodchuck head turns out to be the tail end of a sprightly young fox and it follows the lithe body and small pointed head as it arcs its body above the grass and pounces down. Again and again.
I am like a kid at the candy store.
I am someone who was just given front row tickets to my favorite performer. That fox ballet alters something inside me. Invokes something. Not hope, that word is laden with too much expectation. Maybe deep contentment? But that sounds misleading too. Maybe gratitude? If I die in the next moment I go with a gift I can not imagine ever being able to reciprocate.
I assemble my camera zoom lens, an awkward process for me at best with one eye on the fox as it heads away. Silently.
I leave my car with the camera and can see the foxs' exit path in the wet grass. Following that path I find a foot path with a heavier wear to it than that of the fox. I follow and come upon you like this.
A lashing together of all that was falling apart.
Heron flys over head to the east. The osprey follows. White egret, the first I have seen this season takes a left to the west.