Fire Fox on the Meadow, Port Rexton, NL

I want every wildlife encounter to be like a childhood dream, full of myth and magic, and old folk fables. On the Skerwink Trail, I encountered this red fox. Who is this fox? I want to know. Is she the fire fox of legend? Igniting the skies in the crisp cold air of a far northern night? Her bushy tail sparking the windswept brittle grasses? Is she the shapeshifting artful fox of Irish lore? Playing games in the early morning light? Camera in hand, I’m in hot pursuit. She skillfully slips away, to later reappear along the trail, as I rest, peacefully, on the headland meadow. This solitary fox, a quiet shadow passing through my world, having followed me, unawares. When I encounter wildlife, a dialogue often emerges, a silent, delicate dance imagined, between two sentient beings. Inner world and outer world. A hasty or harsh movement, can make all the difference in the conversation. Curiosity, or threat? I want this fox to linger. Converse with me a while. A calm open heart invites trust. Fear, or aggression, builds walls, distance. Nature mirrors intention, a patient, or careless, hand. Quiet. Respect. Soft breath. Stillness. Being present. Observer and observed. Humble, mindful, the fire fox’s gaze holds me. A communion, brief and fragile, betrayed only by the soft whir of the camera’s shutter. Then she’s gone, save for the healing fires reawakening within me.