this vixen and her kits


The vixen and her kits emerged from the den this afternoon after the rains had finally ended. The skies have been deluging the earth with torrents of rain for days on end now and they, no doubt, have been hunkered down, as have we, undercover. Even I, lover of the wild that I am, have been grateful for shelter on these biting days and blustery nights.

Alone at first, the mother sat grooming herself in the sun, perhaps relieved to be free of the confines of the more and more crowded shelter. ­Soon enough though a precocious pup came nagging at her teat, bounding playfully around and about her. Each time he emerged she would soon disappear over the lip of land, perhaps to lead him back or to attend to the others, whimpering for her there. I have heard that 6 or 7 have been counted, but this afternoon I have noticed just two, the intrepid ones perhaps, one of them puffed up and grey, the other a reddish- blond beauty. (My anthropomorphizing imagines these two to be brother and sister.)

As I watch them, I wonder. Will those two bold ones, out there practically tackling their mother with their unfettered joy, tenaciously insisting on food, be the ones who will thrive? This doubt in me nags that it may be their very fearlessness that in the end dooms them.

I think about what I am doing here, following this unspoken hunger, pursuing  joy as I am. As I walked the property alone earlier this evening, poking my nose into remembrances, nudging open the door of that  freedom I’d tasted last summer, I wondered about that instinctual ‘yes’ that came rushing forth this winter in response to the invitation to return.  Was it impetuous, imprudent, impulsive?  Or could it be that my soul, some inner wisdom in me, is leading me in a direction whose destination  I cannot yet foresee?  I wondered about the chain of events I have set into action and where it might lead?  Put one foot in front of the other, and soon you are walking out the door?

Out of the crowded confines and into the sun. I must trust that this hunger will lead to a fullness – a fullness of life – and not towards a foolish and  certain death.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

These days since I have been here, I have begun again….this practice of letting go – letting go of my need to know, my need to control, my need to be safe, letting go of anxiety, letting go of regret – which means I have begun practicing trust.  In the space left behind after all of that letting go, beneath all that was crowding my heart, ‘All is Well’ has quietly returned to its rightful home in my heart.

And so here I am, letting go into trust, nipping at this potential breast of nurture.







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