![]() ![]() They don’t have to come to me, but they almost always do. ![]() It’s everything people don’t look for until it’s too late, until they need a metaphor or simile to help promote their love. It’s the other stuff I give away-the way I read the sky, the way I watch the sun, the forty-two flavors of breeze. I kept my fox-dance story to myself, and I won’t share it with others even now. I have a sister, but she reads fashion magazines all day. ![]() My fox-dance story was an animal-kingdom story, and this was two years ago, second semester, eighth grade, when we were stuck on photosynthesis. Sheepals, in science, because it was what he’d call a non sequitur. Standing upright, I swear, palm to palm, with black socks on, red coats.Īt school I didn’t tell Margie about the fox dance, or David, or Karl. The foxes, when I found them, were down by the catacombs, doing a slow-dance shuffle. I was following the stream, and above and between the sound of the stream was the sound of birds, and also nested baby squirrels. There was old snow on the ground that day, soft and slushy, and the trees were naked I had my woolen mittens on. ![]() It was on the other side of the cul-de-sac, past the Gunns’ place, through the trees, where the stream draws a wet line in spring. ONCE I SAW A VIXEN and a dog fox dancing. ![]()
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