~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Autumn Foxes

Leaves already changing, first I’d noticed—down the path, one side touched by fall. It sets the birds chirping in a new light—bright and frantic. My foot, the right, hurts on one side, where bone meets earth. Tends to feel better the longer I walk. Pay attention, it will make greater demands. Stick helps, broken branch, and the fading light.

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Working on a painting all day long: time goes by and disappears. Canvas soaks it up. Scent of turpentine on my fingers. What will become of this one? Is it always nothing anyone will understand, or want to? How did I ever get to this place, painting for people younger than me? Comes a time you’re doing for an audience of one—the face in the mirror. Even that gets more interesting to me and less to the world. Can’t change what wants out or how I see it. Nothing but go with it.

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Out here, a world of wonder, herons, turtles, muskrats, beaver, the carp in the old Ohio Canal, birds in the trees, that dying generation at their song. Earth beneath my feet, one keeps reminding me—passed an old woman back there, smiled at me. How do I look to her? White hair, ragged beard, large bodied, big shoulders—still dog meat for fine old ladies? A mile back, I left the path. The thinner one had more sun at growing dusk.

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What’s that, peeking out the rushes, little cave of dark, through the brush, pointy face of red fox—a rock for sitting. Wait him out, pretend I’m staring at the sky, trees, the grasses, nose, eyes poking until he comes trotting across the path, longer legged than I’d have thought, redder, with blacks socks: I’ll stand and watch a moment, thank you.

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Beautiful fellow, wild creature, sweet existence; now a young one, the teenager, crosses behind; look my way! Here comes the Missus, to the other side, where the youngster went, glancing at the old fucker on a rock. Thank God and Reddy Fox. Darker now, light fails, and Papa stands watch still, eyes on mine—might have shivered me one time.

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Who am I? Are you the last to want to know?

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Standing there so quietly, with night settling, like something grown out of the earth? Have something to say to me, Monsieur Reynard? At long last, grant my heart’s desire? How will you manage that? Do you know how much I want? Sliver moon, thin and white, a sickle over trees; stars speckle the sky. Good-bye, my family!

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Good-bye, Sweet One. Here comes the night.