I hit a fox this week with my car. It was awful. Best I could tell it was a common gray fox. Something like this:
I did not run it over, but it did catch a part of my bumper as it bolted across "my" side of the highway. It was around 7:15 in the morning with the sun well into the sky. What was it even doing out and about after sunrise? Why couldn't it have been a touch faster? Why didn't I accelerate a little slower at that last light? Why didn't I run the yellow on that last light? Useless questions, I know. But I couldn't shake them all day.
I decided it was fine, even good, that I could not easily shake them. An animal died because of my actions, albeit not malicious. And a beautiful animal at that. Before it got to my side of the highway it had crossed the other side. In my peripheral I had seen something leap up and straight back down between cars. It wasn't until it emerged from the median, trying desperately to get to the field on the other side, that I realized it was a fox, and more interestingly that it had lept maybe 4 feet in the air to make it across the other side of the highway where the traffic was much heavier. Beautiful. Tragic.
I had a professor in college who refused to say "passed away", or any similar version, when it came to death. More demonstrative of him however was that he also would not let you say it around him. This made for some awkward moments. I cannot say I know why he did this but I do have my understanding of it.
Death is a part of our reality, and lest we allow our religion (whatever it is) to become our "opiate" we would do well to recognize the sensation. To take in that something is wrong. To call it death. . .
All this for a silly little fox? A fox that maybe didn't even die. A fox that might only have a small bruise for a few weeks. A fox that may have been weighed down with two chickens he killed the night before and therefore was not fast enough. . . ahhhh more opiates.
I suggest it was not a silly little fox.
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3 comments:
Yes, my dear one, death is not a normal part of life...it is the antithesis. Something I learned while sitting with my grandpa while death squeezed the last breath from his body. This reality is the bitter that makes life--forever life--so sweet.
I'd prefer to skip the middle man and just smoke some opium.
I believe I had the same professor. . .
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