‘Her hair had the colour of foxes,’ he said again.
He could never stop talking about her; the woman he loved, the woman who’d left him.
She’d come to him one autumn day, and stayed with him all winter. He never knew she slid out of the bed each night, slid out of the house to retrieve her skin from the hollow tree, and ran through the forest, painting the Northern lights across the sky with the brush of her tail. Fox fire.
He only knew she smelled of the wet earth, of autumn, leaves and moss, of snow. And that she’d left him when winter turned to spring.
‘Her hair had the colour of foxes,’ he said.
While less fierce than the Japanese kitsune, European shape-shifting fox-women remain fickle creatures… And what about the English Mr. Fox, the handsome man with his crooked smile and all his lady loves. Or what remains of them…
Do check out Terri Windling’s beautiful blog for more fox-lore: http://www.terriwindling.com/blog/2013/10/fox-lore.html and read the tale of Mr. Fox here: http://www.authorama.com/english-fairy-tales-29.html
Art: Franz Marc