Elske: Frisian Origins, Female, Frisian diminutive of Elisabeth
Marya of the Wood
It has been four long years since I last saw Swift, the gray fox that listened to me play my cello whilst dining on apples, nuts, and seeds. Like the cows, she was polite and attentive, a perfect audience.
She came to me when I lifted my voice into the vast woods. It was a call, a kulning of sorts, meant to summon her. After I brought in the bird and squirrel feeders each night, I sang, signaling that I was in for the night. It was time for her to go along the wooded path to dine on apples and seeds while enjoying music meant for her. At that time, I learned what the Fox Trot truly was, more than a dance that many know and love — a dance taught to me by my father.
Swift brought joy and hope in a time of uncertainty and perceived darkness. In addition to the dense fog of tension that enveloped humanity, it was a magical time—an unplanned season of discovering who we were and were not. It was time to trust ourselves, reach for our inner compasses, and navigate through a dark, tangled maze, weaving through new territory.
To survive, we were to trust our instincts and remember that we could find our way in the dark, even when the path led us through rough, unstable terrain, where the ground could give way at any moment. And for many, it did. Yet, after reaching deep within, some remembered our true nature and remained steadfast. The truth always prevails, as does the light over darkness.
Previously unparalleled—it was a time to navigate both the seen and unseen. We endured deep isolation, cloaked in fear and uncertainty within the confines of mandatory lockdowns, face coverings, and sharp divisions within our local and larger communities. For some, it was an opportunity to reclaim their essence; for others, it was a time to die. It was a call to faith.
That summer, Swift brought joy each time she visited me. I had something to look forward to—a new visitor from the woods. The last few times I saw her, she brought her kits to play beneath my window as I played for them. Of course, it was quite different from playing in an orchestra. Still, I loved it dearly, bringing me much satisfaction and deep gratitude.
Then, Swift did not return. Her kits were off on their own, and I came to terms with the changing seasons. However, I will admit that I was heartbroken when she did not respond to my call during the following spring and summer.
I comprehended that it was a lesson in impermanence. Nothing lasts forever, not even a hungry fox. Within my deliberate innocence, I imagined it was such a blessed experience; she would return forever. It’s important to note that I never intended to tame or mingle with her more than I did — from a safe distance, looking through the window.
I have many wild friends. We maintain our separateness accordingly, have boundaries, and show mutual respect. Occasionally, I meet an impatient red squirrel or an overconfident chipmunk. Still, they usually comprehend the rules of our sacred community.
After the massive land clearing that took place here over the past few years, many visitors who used to frequent the fields and woods have vanished. Of course, this is to be expected when upwards of one hundred acres of forest are cleared. Oh, how I miss my old friends. Again, it is about acceptance and faith.
And then, this year, during the month of May, I decided to sing again. I had learned to accept the devastating change and loss of our neighboring divine space. It was an urge that swept over me. I turned towards the enduring tree council and sang. I did it without expectations. It was empowering to lift my voice into the twilight once again. It was not for Swift or her descendants. It was for whichever creatures would inhabit the untamed outpouring of love I carry — the unbroken bond between them and me.
I went about the business of collecting feeders to bring in should a bear happen to return to the neighborhood. I passed by the window a few times, glancing without expectation toward where I placed a few sliced apples, and there she was—a beautiful gray fox. She had a different look about her, more white on her face. We made eye contact before she dashed back towards the path, disappearing into the woods. I am blessed by the return of the gray fox. I call her Elske.
✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯
To be continued...
Beautiful! Reminded me of one of my favorite books, “Fox and I”. Thank you for sharing.
Beautiful MJ