Dear Fox: A Lust Letter from Hibernation.

Dear Fox,

You sprinted in front of me

Then disappeared

Your Friday-chill-charged scarlet coat

And shocking half-silver tail

The January wind breathed you

Into the dark

You were gone

I wildly searched for you

Part of my heart in my throat

Part still beating in my chest

Understanding what it’s like

To need to disappear

I didn’t really want to find you

Because that would un-magic your magic

You are air and claws and spicy love

I see you grinning in my dreams, Fox

You visit me there

Talking of ghosts and God and Angels

The things that I know

But sometimes my darkness makes me forget


It is a late winter this year and I feel lost, yet deep inside of my soul at the same time. I don’t know what it is about the quiet of winter, the dark, that sends me searching, looking back and gazing forward, while I can barely speak words to others. I don’t want to talk at all.

So, while my words stay mostly inside, I start to feel the whirl of this life spinning and spinning. Those internal snowflake-letters spinning in my mind and heart. Since I saw you, Fox, all I can do is sleep and dream and dream and sleep. I don’t know exactly how to get back to feeling like me. But my patience is almost gone. Not much left. Two or three little pieces of salty patience left. 

Everything feels like the vision of you, Fox. Were you really here? I know that you were, but you were gone so fast, even though the land stretches out wide and open where you ran, I couldn’t find you.

But for that quick glimpse, for that heartbeat, I felt hope. Hope that your kind of beauty still exists. Because mostly, I have been low, close to the ground, wordless. Nothing looks shimmery or even slightly shiny. Each day the same. Until I saw you… again.

I have seen you before. You have danced across my pastures and on the edge of the woods, you have danced across my mind. At dusk. In the moonlight. And in the sun of daytime. But it has been a while since I have seen you. Seeing you again gave me a tiny spark, a tiny fire, a tiny breath.

I used to have so much courage. I didn’t let fear get to me. But lately, it seems to be settling in around me with a heaviness. And I don’t even know if it is really fear. Maybe it is just age. Maybe regret. I feel unrecognizable.

So dear Fox, I have decided to give in to winter. To let it take me into its darkness, its pine-filled, underground den. To accept it. It is the only way to be. To move with winter instead of fighting it. It drags me through memories and some are hard, just like winter itself. But some are warm. I need them all.

Fox, you showed yourself, just once in January, to tell me something. You came to show me how to move swiftly, how to discern the dark from the light. I am trying to find the way, the swiftness, the motion to move forward over the snowy hills, the fallen logs.

But you are also the foxy Spirit of the dream, and you have pushed me into this blurry place where there are no sharp edges, only so many dream-states and forgotten meanings in the morning. You are a riddle. Clear and blurry all at once.

Your flash of wild, flowing, red-coated bliss inspired me to find my agility and find my sharpness. But first I will rest in my den. First I will hibernate my mind. I will silence my heart.

But soon, dear Fox, let my eyes become lusty, golden dog-eyes. I want to survey the landscape, using the moonlight to race across the grey snow fields. Give me your jet black nose. I need to breathe in the chilling night wind and catch the scent of my future, my passion, my adventures.

Grace me with your tough red legs and your scarred paws, that sprint and crunch across the ice. Never fearing the cold, never stopping. Lend me your wizardry, if only for a season. This is my prayer to you, Fox. This is my wish.

Love, Your Greatest Admirer (The Wild-haired Fox Girl)



Maura Coyne is a seeker, a dirty wild horse girl, and a lover of the passionate life. She practices hypnotherapy, equine therapy and energy/breathwork to assist others in removing the blocks and obstacles that often prevent them from moving forward on their life path. Teaching others to transmute the heavy and dark challenges that they face, by moving them into the light of creativity, strength and spirit, she is committed to healing herself along the way, and witnessing miracles in Nature. If you are interested in a little soul archaeology of your own, contact her at Wild Goose Farm, named for her patriarchal Coyne ancestral line. She aspires to continue going on wild goose chases for the rest of her time on the planet.


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