The fox has appeared again, crossing the field but then allowed me to watch him on the lane before he disappeared. They are beautiful creatures and as I understand it, admired by Celtic druids for their skill and cunning as well as their ability to shape shift.
Below is a poem I wrote about another encounter with a fox some time ago.
High in the air the buzzard mews
following the movements of the secret world below;
the river, cool and dark, where the heron stands,
the bramble, dandelions and grasses
Almost hidden from sight
among the twisted thorn branches,
still grass and dappled light,
a nose appears,wet and black,
testing the air
a russet red head watches me.
there is a decision to be made
I am no threat
i am not the hunter thrilling at the kill
always lusting after blood
i would not take your life!
You test the air again
and slowly cross the path
you,with all the colours of autumn in your coat,
have taken me at my word.
your white tipped bushy tail
the last sight as you silently disappear.
the ancient druids knew your worth
your kenning and your power.
some call your clan the lost dogs of the Norsemen
Did you sail with your humans across the seas
the Viking red haired courage in your heart?
Shapeshifting through the centuries
you are fighting for your place in an unquiet world.
out of kilter, losing its way.
there is a magic in seeing you.
© Jenny Methven