White Fox

I jumped out of bed and ran down to the river before anyone else was up.  It was my seventh birthday. I was sitting very still on the bank, trying to hear if the fish were speaking. Suddenly White Fox was sitting right next to me, also motionless. I smelled her fur, something new to my nose. Without turning, saw her in my peripheral vision. I was in the time of my life when I fully expected, as everyday, what adults called miracles. So I accepted her as my new playmate, thinking she was a fine birthday present from the world.

After that, White Fox and I often met on the riverbank. I told her my secrets. She would tilt her head when I spoke, and I have never in my life had a better listener. She taught me to leap, though I couldn’t corkscrew straight up, like she could. White Fox taught me many things.

I’m not sure when she vanished. Growing up is as mysterious as a flower opening.  You can never see it happening. Since the process was so incremental, I didn’t think to miss her.

It seemed I had traveled far away from the dimension where White Fox could make herself visible to me.  It was my 77^th birthday. My cohort viewed magical happenings as mental decline rather than everyday miracles. I was on Mezcala Mountain, on a high bluff overlooking Lake Chapala. I had wandered off from the Birders, as I often did, needing balance between the solo and the social. I was sitting very still on the bluff, trying to hear if the heron or pelican or egret were singing as they soared.

The second my nose caught the whiff, I remembered. It was the scent of White Fox’s fur. There she was, large as life and right beside me. I could feel a smile spread over my face. The child inside me came out to play and it was easy to believe, again, in a world that sparkles with quantum magic in every direction. I leaned against her. She was so strongly connected to the ground that she could support my weight. Without a sound traveling through the air, White Fox whispered a secret to my heart. And a question.
Yes, dear Fox, I answered her. Yes, I’m ready.

©Susa Silvermarie 2023