I'm watching a fox sun himself in a sunny corner of our backyard. He paws at the snow, ambles around the hollies. Every so often he glances up with his perky ears and catlike face (a winning combination since the rest of him is doglike). Does he see me watching him?
I marvel at the alertness of his posture, the thickness of his reddish-brown fur, his winter coat. I imagine the feel of the sun on his back, the generations of wildness in his bones.
He is a gift, as are the woodpeckers and cardinals at the feeder. A reminder of the creatures who live among us, the natural world we inhabit. The binoculars help me see the fox and, by extension, all of creation.