Stained glass Fox
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The Fox Beneath the Sun
His tail is fire, his paws to earth,
his eyes hold dusk and morning dew;
he carries all the woods within
His tawny, wind filled chest.
Above him, scarlet blossoms bloom,
while little wings take flight—
as if the world has gathered here
Alive in the golden sunlit beam.
Life to life, Death to bones.
Shining, Golden light on the tired day’s hunt .
Hunt and hunted, fire through the quiet trees
Scurry and chase till the sun goes down
Even wild things need a place
To rest their weary hearts,
sometimes home is not a den—
But light, and leaves, and the musky scent of earth
-bh
