At the edge of the cedar grove on a partly cloudy with chance of rain day,
a red fox came out of the fox hole. As was the custom of foxes, this small
animal would hide in the brush and pounce on an unsuspecting rabbit or bird,
mouse or squirrel, at times find a fresh roadkill or a fish by the stream.
Lately the fox had taken to hanging around the primitive shed roof shack
where I sIt at the window watching for its appearance; it curious and seeking food
and myself curious and seeking a glimpse of its sleek reddish fur and bushy tail.
Just as I feared that the fox was not going to show itself today, there it is.
Right there. See the red against the green? Look under the big cedar tree. Look
to the left of the garden. See. Now the fox is moving towards the garden
where yesterday it dug holes and chewed the bark of a grapevine.
We watch as the fox enters the garden and past the newly emerging pea plants,
the sprouting spinach and past the early forming strawberries. A tap on the glass
and off it runs.
Catch us the foxes,
The little foxes
that ruin the vineyards –
For our vineyard is in blossom.
The Song of Songs 2:15