I remember the morning and the moment.  I went out for my morning run on Jackdaw Street, and the little fox trotted along across the street and ducked into an alley near that little old red house where Charles Lindberg lived while his plane was being finished in San Diego.  I decided to write a poem about the experience.  I found the verse this evening as I was getting ready to write my blog.  It will do.

Red Fox in the City

I saw a red fox this morning

in my neighborhood

like one of those on the backs of old photographs

tail straight back, running,

and I decided not to tell anyone,

perversely,

because it was so delicious a sight

in the middle of the city.

Not everything has to be shared.

This was something I could keep for myself.

I wonder if I’d said,

“Look, there goes a fox,”

if someone had been with me?

I’d like to think I could have resisted

and tucked it away for me alone

to know and remember.

May 20, 1992