Foxes are beautiful creatures, and we have one that frequents our land and our watering hole. Not one to show himself much in the daytime (at least to these human eyes), he shows up to drink at night, and my Ring camera catches his visits. I am always thrilled to see him.
So, when I had an opportunity to acquire and mosaic a fox skull, I jumped on it. Having worked on mostly larger skulls of deer and antelope, I marveled at the diminutive perfection of this six-inch-long form that once held all the fierce grace and beauty of a living fox. I decided she (and, yes, it clearly proclaimed itself a she) would wear the colors of a red fox, and that a beautiful fox brooch right in her third-eye area would proclaim her identity. An elaborate rhinestone earring would perfectly accent the shape of her snout. Gold, bronze and amber beads, including semi-precious goldstone gems, completed her fiery new coat.
Because she is small, I knew she’d need an appropriate framing or mount in order to hang properly. It took some time, but I found the perfect little barn wood shadow box, which I filled and embellished with other natural materials until I had created an assemblage that felt like the forests she once roamed: moss, a small deer antler, empty seed pods.
As with most of my art, once assembled, the piece itself had a story to tell. As I contemplated her name, I sat down to write, trailing her through her woodland domain until she led me someplace unexpected.
Foxfire
Her old bones remember the life they once held, for departed is not the same as done.
Once, she moved softly on padded feet over layers of woodland history – leaf, moss, fungus and fallen tree – her fur glinting like amber fire in the dappled sunlight. Stealthy, graceful, and clever, she lived and moved with an ancient and enduring connection to her surroundings, at one with the pulse and rhythm of her domain.
Her russet fur reflected the beauty of fallen autumn leaves, and she was at peace with the cycles and the seasons. Just as the antler grows in spring and falls in winter, she too would come and go. But while the days were still long, there was time to revel in the warmth of sun on fur, the scent of pine and river, the call of raven and jay.
Though at last the day came that she fell and did not rise, her weathered bones still carry her essence. Like the foxfire of fallen trees, she wears the brilliant golds and ambers of her youth, shining like fire as she rests amidst the moss, where antler and seed promise that what falls will rise again.
~~~
(Note: Foxfire is an actual natural phenomenon in which rotting logs glow with phosphorescence in the dark of night.)
Foxfire joins my other pieces in the Old Bones gallery.