Foxes Without A Forest

The fox stands erect. Its long, pointed ears slice through the crisp spring air above its head while its fiery red coat bristles in the wind. The stillness of the fox, like the silence of a library, is deep, powerful. Its attentiveness, almost palpable. The fox, just a few paces in front of me, still hasn't noticed I'm here. I hold my breath, desperate to make this moment last. In the distance, two fox kits pounce on one another, tumbling with tangled legs and wagging tails into a shallow ravine. As they roll beneath the elegant hostas, another kit, this one a little more timid, steps out from behind a tree, not wanting to miss out. Soon, two more have arrived, and they chase each other through the trees. Their soft, mottled puppy-fur blends in with the mulch underfoot, and now all I can see are joyful loops of blurred motion dancing up and down the sides of the ravine. The foxes embody a wild beauty that is absent from the paved roads and manicured lawns of my day to day life. So rarely do I encounter an animal as untamed as a fox, that I occasionally catch myself forgetting that they actually exist. Seeing the foxes, happy, attentive, and fully engaged in the moment, a feeling lightness washes over me. The stresses of my day to day life fade to the background, and I'm reminded of what is really important: Life. Family. Togetherness. Yet, beneath it all, there is an underlying sense of sadness. The foxes are not frolicking in a forest, but in my backyard. The kits' seemingly boundless energy has been fueled, not by the prey their parents bring home for dinner, but by the leftovers they dig up in our garbage. When the kits grow up, there will be nowhere for them to go but to the yards of our neighbors, many of whom are much less tolerant of uninvited guests. There is nowhere for these foxes to go. The natural forest they were meant to inhabit has long since been swallowed up by endless expanses of suburbia. The world they were created to live in simply no longer exists.