He was lying under a tree, licking up the shade.
Hello again, Fox, I said.
And hello to you too, said Fox, looking up and
not bounding away.
You're not running away? I said.
Well, I've heard of your conversation about us. News
travels even among foxes, as you might know or not know.
What conversation do you mean?
Some lady said to you, "The hunt is good for the fox."
And you said, "Which fox?"
Yes, I remember. She was huffed.
So you're okay in my book.
Your book! That was in my book, that's the difference
between us.
Yes, I agree. You fuss over life with your clever
words, mulling and chewing on its meaning, while
we just live it.
Oh!
Could anyone figure it out, to a finality? So
why spend so much time trying. You fuss, we live.
And he stood, slowly, for he was old now, and
ambled away.
Mary Oliver