Yesterday during my walk, I had several encounters with one of the neighborhood foxes. As I write that sentence, I wonder if people still use the term "fox" to mean an attractive female.
I saw the fox from a distance of a block, as we both walked east. As always, I wondered if I was seeing a fox, a coyote, or a dog. But the head made me think I wasn't seeing a dog. And it was a slender creature, which made me think it was either a baby coyote or a fox. Plus, I've seen a fox in the neighborhood before, but never a coyote.
I continued east to the Intracoastal and then around by the marina, heading up to the route around North Lake. A few blocks away from the path around the top of the lake, I saw the fox again. This time, the fox crossed the street, stopped under a tree, and stared at me.
I stared back. I didn't want to make the fox feel threatened. Plus, I wanted a good look. My spouse and I have a long running disagreement. He often thinks he's seen a coyote, and I think he's probably seeing the neighborhood foxes.
Eventually, I kept walking, and the fox trotted off into a back yard. I walked home, thinking of all the forest creatures that are here, in a beachside town full of concrete and high towers, very far away from any forest. If I wrote children's books, I'd write about foxes and raccoons who live in the abandoned houses and go to the beach after everyone goes home.
At home, I looked at various pictures to be sure I was seeing a fox instead of a coyote, and I'm pretty sure it was a fox. It would have been small for a coyote, but more than that, its face was more like a fox than a coyote. And back to that slang--how did that become a term for a beautiful woman? Foxes are cute enough, but other animals are much more beautiful.
I spent the rest of the day working on writing for seminary classes and meeting former colleague friends for lunch at a Mexican restaurant. In later years, when I look back and wonder why I wasn't writing during this time when I was underemployed and a part-time student, let me remember that I'm writing thousands of words a week. For my New Testament class, each weekly assignment clocks in at over 1,000 words, and that's just one class. I'm writing a similar amount for Hebrew Bible and I'm writing 300-500 words each week for my Religion and the Arts class. And some of it might be useful in other contexts--but the larger importance is that it keeps my writing muscles in use.
It's the kind of delightful life that I have to keep fighting back this fear that I might be punished later. But what kind of punishment do I fear? Will I regret this time of not optimizing my earning potential? I doubt it.
Let me remember the many delights of this time.
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