Foxes

One fox, a whole year of moods

Every month finds the same fox in a different mood. January opens alone, a single silhouette crossing a snow dune at dusk; by February it's found company, wrapped nose-to-cheek in a shared scarf. March is a nap under falling snow, and by April the pair are curled together in a bed of violets.

Spring turns playful — May's fox sings with birds riding its tail, June finds it daydreaming across a bank of clouds with kits leaping around it, and by July it's crowned in wildflowers, eyes closed in pure contentment. August cools into a quiet drink from a still forest pond.

Autumn is where it comes alive — an impossibly fluffed coat among giant toadstools in September, a full-tilt pounce through fallen leaves in October, and by November it's watching quietly from above, alone again on a floor of fallen color, before the year comes home to rest.