Rediscovering the emancipation of driving that began in this journey back into the past, I took a Sunday morning to head to the Berkshires as a soft fall of flurries sparkled in the sky. Doing my best to practice mindfulness, I made it a relatively quiet drive. No loud music, no singing, no road rage – a simple Sunday drive, letting the other drivers pass by in their haste, allowing the mind to let go of its worries, or doing my best to let go. I’m still new to all of this.
Not quite ready to entirely be free of past indulgences, I stop at the Lee Outlets to see if any winter sales are going on. It’s possible to be mindful and exercise a little retail therapy at the same time.
The pickings were slim, and I mostly avoided purchasing much. A sweater called to me, but I remembered I had a similar one already, so I put it down. A soft long-sleeved T-shirt felt cozy, but wasn’t marked down enough to justify my intended use for it as a night shirt. I did find a pair of work pants and a button-down work shirt, as well as a warm sweatshirt on a big sale. For whatever reason, shopping didn’t hold as much allure and joy as it once did. Maybe I’m growing up and different things mean more.
It was almost noon at this point, and a few snowflakes were falling slowly from the sky. Without wind, it was the charming kind of snowfall that looked beautiful but left no marks on the ground. I drove into Lenox, thinking of getting a cup of tea at the Red Lion Inn (I’ll get to that portion of the journey in a later post). For now, I bypassed the inn and kept going into Great Barrington. I don’t know why I headed that way – there didn’t seem to be much out there, but I followed the pull of the day.
The Berkshires were putting on a pretty, if muted, show. The somber shades of winter required closer inspection to fully appreciate. I pulled over a couple of times to take it all in and get a few crappy cel-phone photos.
Near a sign for a nature preserve, I turned off and took a side road. Something impelled me to go off the beaten path. Slowing the car, I looked over the snowy terrain to the mountains in the distance. To my right the preserve stretched out with patches of frozen ice and snow interspersed with brush and some smaller trees. There in the middle of a snowy little clearing was what I thought was a grey fox. It was magnificent. Its coat was dark gray with ends of silver. I sensed a kindred spirit in the animal (and not just in our silver hair). The fox has always been one of my totem animals, ever since I was a little kid.
I expected the creature to bolt away as soon as I scuttled out of the car to get a picture but it took its time turning around, then paused and looked back at me, deliberately and intently, and I could see, just for a sliver of time, a future, and it was ok. Its lush tail swung behind it as it disappeared silently into the brush. As I watched it walk, it looked less fox-like and more like a wolf, and I realized later it may have been a coyote. I’ve felt a kinship with the wolf as well. A bird gave call. A sprinkling of snow fell quietly from the sky.
It was one of those magical, meaningful moments that comes along when the universe is trying to tell you something. After some time, I got back into the car and headed into a nearby town for some tea. When I finally made it back to Loudonville, I saw a black car ahead of me, stopped for no apparent reason on Albany-Shaker Road. I was about to beep when suddenly a thin red fox jogged slowly in front of the car, traveling weakly across someone’s front yard. It looked slightly haggard. Its tail was a wet and raggedy thing that dropped limply behind it, darker and more depressing than the rest of its ginger fur. I wondered if it had just been attacked by some other animal. It had a downtrodden look to it and my heart jumped. I drove on and ended the journey.
Seeing these two animals meant something. The last time I’d seen so many foxes was in the dunes of Ogunquit, where a young fox family was peeking out as Andy and I walked by.
Later on I learned it happened on the day of a full moon. A warning from the universe… or a promise that everything was going to be all right. Only time will tell.
