What the Foxes Said

The foxes cried on a certain rainy summer night and she lay awake in that dismaying hour.

Back in the village house she found herself, lost in a frenzy but comfortable in her mother’s bosom.

Full grown was she but back in that night when she was 8, where nothing had changed except her age.

Nothing sounded more melodious than that sound of rain even though she always hated it.

Nothing seemed so clearer than everything in that room that night illuminated by those strikes of lightning.

Nothing felt better than that moment of sickening stillness of the night so riddled by the Storm and the breathing.

Nothing could have ever compared to that single moment of euphoria felt on a stormy summer night, as the foxes sang in that dreamy hour.