Dear body on the side of the road,

I saw you lying there this morning as I sped on my way past, already late. You looked at once beautiful and tragic. I saw no blood, no injuries, no organic pancake on the tarmac to be dismissed and ignored. Your coat was beautiful, a rich royal tan, your tail was still soft and full. I could almost pretend you were just bathing in the they dew there before you once again frolicked off to your safe and comfy lair, but I know that foxes are not daytime creatures.

I am sorry I could not stop to check, to save you if there as still a spark, however weak. I prayed that you had passed painlessly, and that you had gone to sleep, and that it was just that simply did not wake up. I hoped that you weren't a mother, or a loved one, or anyone to be missed. I wished that you old and frail and had come out of your shadows to die by yourself. But I couldn't help but shed a tear for your body, lying there, exposed and beautiful, even in death, and I apologised to the God of Foxes for your senseless, stupid death. I felt awful for not being able to do more for either your or the shell that lay there, cold and unmoving. How I have longed to see you so close up, and yet I never wanted it to be like this. How much more beautiful were you when you when God's breath glowed from your eyes?

Dear body by the side of the road, I am sorry, and I hope that your soul is at peace.

Copyright © Vicky Chapman
July 31, 2001