The red fox crosses the ice
intent on none of my business.
It's winter and slim pickings.
Margaret Atwood, Morning in the Burned House
I was looking out the window at daughter's and thinking that it looked for all the world like Christmas out there when I saw something moving at the edge of her property. I couldn't tell what it was except I knew it was a four legged animal of some kind. It was digging and seemed to be eating while constantly lifting its head and looking around.
I thought it was a fox and when it moved off and crossed the field towards the neighbour's I saw
that it was. I was surprised as I thought fox were nocturnal, but then I know they are opportunistic too and perhaps the scent of something emerging from the half-melted snow had lured it out and about.
I was caught by his foxy beauty...his black feet, sharp nose and ears, orange/red colours and the very fine bushy tail. He has managed to fare well during this winter already in the books as one of the steadily coldest.
It is a constant source of amazement to me how all the wild creatures eke out their existences during the winter months. After all these don't do what my canny little chipmunks or squirrels do...store away food and huddle inside for the coldest periods. These bigger animals must constantly forage and just what does the frozen world give up in February. My guess, not much, or as Margaret says, slim pickings.