The writer and a fox share a morning sunrise on the Chesapeake Bay.
The first balmy spring morning was a welcome relief. After a frigid winter with occasional bone-chilling winds off the Chesapeake Bay, the warm, easy breeze that day made my watching the sunrise all the more satisfying. It’s the finest part of the day. A private, peaceful time before any nuisance chaos begins. Too early for birds, boats or bothersome noises, there was no sound as the radiant orange orb broke the horizon. Not a cloud in the sky. Sunrise, salt water, silence.
And a fox.
Most mornings, weather permitting, I walk to the end of the yard to watch the sunrise from our dock. This was not the first time I’d seen the fox, but for quite a while it had been no more than a shadowy silhouette sporadically crisscrossing the yard in the dim light of dawn. Until recently I was never entirely sure what was passing by my quiet perch on the water as I waited for the sun. Whether it was a he or a she remains a mystery, but its distinct limp told me it was always the same one.
Watching the daybreak is a special experience. There’s a reverence to it. It’s a brief period during which my mind freely shuffles through thoughts ranging from pointless to profound, culminating in the spectacular appearance of our sun. It’s the same every day but it’s different every day. One morning, during the majesty of it all, I wondered who else might be watching at that precise moment. The Northern Neck offers so many excellent front row seats for sunrises over the water. Were there others in Reedville also awaiting the daylight? Maybe only me.
And a fox.
I’d grown accustomed to its faint form weaving in and out of the tree line as I sipped coffee and waited for the light, assuming it would never be more than just a vague figure in the wee hours. But one particular morning as the sun appeared, looking especially orange, its first rays streaked across the yard and lit up something equally colorful. For the first time, that shadowy silhouette in the dark became a brilliant image in the light. “Oh,” I said out loud. The fox looked at me. I expected it to bolt into the woods. Instead, it sat down, turned to face the sun and did both in so casual and comfortable a manner that I was tempted to offer it a cup of coffee.
Stuart Perkins
Red foxes are common in Virginia. They are primarily solitary, nocturnal hunters with a strong territorial instinct, often exhibiting playful behavior, and are known for their keen senses, particularly hearing , which they use to stalk and pounce on prey.
Our house sits on the shore of the Chesapeake Bay surrounded by pastures, fields and woods. That location enables us to watch a veritable who’s who of Virginia wildlife parade past our windows. Sightings are always a thrill but usually ephemeral as creatures that appear suddenly from the woods disappear just as suddenly back into them. Even brief glimpses of wildlife are entertaining. Some are extraordinary. But to have a fox join you for the sunrise is downright magical.
There’s been so much written about the importance of our connection with wildlife and with all animals in general. Discussions of lofty concepts are had about what it means to share this life and time with other beings. Some explain that we’re all simply caught up in the same span of the planet’s continuum. Deep thoughts about our responsibility to coexist harmoniously in a respectful way with other species have been laid out in complex fashion. At times I ponder these weighty notions and marvel at the depth of the discourse.
But a fox watching the sunrise with me? That’s just neat.
No scholarly interpretations of our relationships with wildlife can trigger a reaction remotely like that of a personal encounter. The fox and I saw each other, heard each other and were so unbothered by the meeting that we continued watching the glow on the horizon. Together. Scientific journals describing for me the wild and untamed nature of Vulpes vulpes are irrelevant. I had morning coffee with a fox. It was fun.
They say the sun has been around for billions of years. Foxes much less. Humans a fraction of time in comparison to either. During our sun’s existence, countless foxes and humans have come and gone and countless more will come and go again. But now, right now, for a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of things, this fox and this human sat together to watch a sunrise. When I glanced back to where it had been sitting, it was gone.
I don’t see the fox every day but we cross paths on occasion. The telltale limp lets me know who it is. We shared a special moment. There was no interaction. Just two humble beings watching an inspiring event that happens every day. An event that’s been anticipated and observed for ages and will always remain a magnificent display appreciated by us humans.
And a fox.
Follow Stuart’s blog at storyshucker.wordpress.com.
