Silver Grey Fox on Picnic Table

 
grey fox on picnic table

silver fox on picnic table
          
          Evenings in late spring
 
          When temperatures are newly short sleeved and sweaters are no longer
          With daylight taking slightly longer to recede and the last of the Swifts
                    (or Turns, I don't know how to tell the difference)
          Bank and scree above the tree tops until they are all gone for their nests
          Then the first firefly of this year blinks his bold availability cross the yard
          While a hummingbird sneaks a nightcap before whirring to her branch
          And all bird and insect and reptile sounds echo away to near quietude 
          I take refuge from the mosquitoes on my screened-in back porch
          As the occasional bat dips and dives for those it can sense in the shadows
          
          My attention is focus-snagged on a relatively-loud and very distinct sound 
          Smacky chew-crunching like that of a dog (obviously nearby) and I recall
          There were still portions of leftover stale bread crusts on my picnic table
          My light reveals a grey silver fox (with a smaller head than I'd have imagined)
          Finishing what was too-stale by the previous day's corvids and squirrels
 
          It came back ten nights later to insure I got a better look
          Now, I know the difference (and rarity) between a silver and a grey fox

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