“Three Foxes by the Edge of the Field at Twilight” by Jane Hirshfield

One ran,
her nose to the ground,
a rusty shadow
neither hunting nor playing.

One stood; sat; lay down; stood again.

One never moved,
except to turn her head a little as we walked.

Finally we drew too close,
and they vanished.
The woods took them back as if they had never been.

I wish I had thought to put my face to the grass.

We kept on walking,
speaking as strangers do when becoming friends.

There is more and more I tell no one,
strangers nor loves.
This slips into the heart
without hurry, as if it had never been.

And yet, among the trees, something has changed.

Something looks back from the trees,
and knows me for who I am.

Jane Hirshfield, Three Foxes by the Edge of the Field at Twilight

2 thoughts on ““Three Foxes by the Edge of the Field at Twilight” by Jane Hirshfield

  1. Every day every word that you share, as in this poem, “slips into my heart without hurry,” thus slowing life to see the trees, if not the foxes.
    Thank you for your posts.


    1. What a beautiful note in every possible way: beautiful in sentiment, in word choice, and especially in timing.
      Given the daily postings, I never expect comments, wanting instead to keep the focus on the selections, but I was recently meditating on whether to continue the project into next year and wondering what shape it may take. So your note was a silver fox, and I’m very grateful. Thank you Tamara.


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