some thoughts in winter.

ok, so i hadn't seen March of the Penguins, ever, because as much as i lurv the little buggers i just wasn't into watching a narrated nature film. srsly, the closest i get is like, Milo & Otis. or what was that other one, the Incredible Journey or something like that? but i just read (ok, ok, i know i'll be made fun of for being clueless for this) that there are penguins who die in March of the Penguins. they show them. freezing. to. death.

i am so sad i know this now.

i guess i should've known this, already, just by using my powers of mental thinking, but i opted to not think about it, and i was happy with my denial, thank you very much. this comes on the heels of a lingering low-grade depression of late, and a sad moment on my trip to western NY.

i was out walking in my grandmother's 'field' while trying to digest a pie. there are a couple paths (car-wide) cut through the brush, so i followed one down past the stream that (mostly) marks the property lines... like so many times before. i've walked this in winter, spring, summer, and autumn. it's a casual nature trail, with deer, coyotes, turkeys, foxes, rabbits, rodents – you name it – all living, or commuting, through the area. on that particular trip, i saw no creatures milling in the early twilight (just my luck). just tracks. i managed to identify a fox trail and several crossing deer trails.

i followed the fox trail for a while before turning back -- he had the same idea, i suppose, about staying out of the brush and had conveniently walked along the side of the path most of the way up, way past the stream and cross path that marks the property bounds. on my way back, i spotted something in the snow on the cross path, just a few feet off the path i was on. it was the frozen body of a fox. it had clearly fallen sometime during the snowfall of the past couple days, and was half-covered by the snow. he lay on his side. the fur was a radiant red, with perfect, beautiful long black-furred legs, and a large ear protruding from the snow. he wasn't curled up. he just lay, as if he had fallen over in mid-stride. his eye had sunken in and had snow and ice in the depression. a couple yellowy teeth could be seen in the slightly open mouth. his tail was, i imagine, hidden under the snow... possibly gone, if he'd been in a fight. but there were no signs of trauma. no blood. no wounds. he lay, beautifully preserved, asleep with a slightly angry look.

i was sad, but not so much a city girl that i didn't comfort myself with the nature of nature... he had starved or frozen, and such things happen, and have happened, to more creatures than this. but he was so beautiful, and i coveted this thing. i wanted to dig him up out of curiosity, but i hadn't worn my gloves. and then what? take him to a taxidermist? touch the body of a dead wild animal?

my adult thoughts won over my child-like feelings and i walked back to the house, still desiring, deep inside, to possess this wild thing, so still and fierce and lost. i'm not sure why the feeling lingers. maybe i want to save him yet, to keep his beauty from being ravaged. but what good would that do? what is there to save?

it's amazing how such a small thing can stir such emotions. on my way back in the house, my cousin asked me in the driveway if i saw anything. i answered, "just a dead fox."

just a dead fox.