By: Shyanne Sarris
Oh tiny, little fox – you sit on skeletal leaves.
Your eyes are wide – a galaxy in each.
Lifted, your olive nose sniffs for food, shelter, companionship,
Something; you sniff for something – New – Familiar
I stare and wonder, “Oh tiny, little fox, what are your motives?”
“Are they Candor or Impure?”
“Will blood fall from your teeth?”
“Or water drip from your nose?”
Suddenly, a breeze uplifts – somewhere from the West I’m sure.
You lift your paw, in arrangement for change.
The breeze it strikes – Steadfast and Strong –
And your fur bristles in response.
Your fur is Beautiful – It shimmers like blades in the sun.
It has grown thick – lush – in preparation for imminent cold claws.
“Oh tiny, little fox” I question, “Why are you so beautiful?”
In my eyes the Earth, the Sea, the Sky
They have no measure to your Beauty.
However, you do not care a sliver.
You care only for the Hunt, the Fight, the Flight – Life.
I stare, take cautious aim, then cock back the rifle in my hands.
Click. My finger on the trigger
Your ears instantaneously perk, alert to promised Danger.
Swiveling, your ears search for more than just a click.
Arrogance. Pompous, egregious Arrogance is set aside
And, I watch as you pad away.
Your bushy tail follows on the ground close behind –
Erasing the proof of your Existence.
I am incapable of dictating your last dewy breath – You mesmerize me
“Will you live another day?”
I contemplate these questions and more.
But, I know the answer.
For, there simply is no answer.
You are Feral, Oh tiny, little Fox.