Vulpine sapience

Some days I feel that I'm in the twilight zone. Situations come up that are so strange, so surreal that I wonder if I'm not part of the world's most twisted Dalí, or a character in a Magritte titled "Ceci n'est pas une vie."

Yesterday, for example, as I was coming out the parking lot at work, I saw a fox. In broad daylight. I had to wait for the fox to finish crossing the street before I could turn. This is a metropolis, not a small town in the country. Of course, there are parks and small wooded areas. It's not impossible to imagine that some animals live in them. It's just this specific circumstance that had an otherworldly feel to it. It was so dreamlike, the way the fox jauntily loped across the concrete street, in the middle of an industrial district. I swear, it looked at me in the eye, too. I laughed. I'm not superstitious but I couldn't help it. The idea crossed my mind that this was an omen of sorts and I immediately thought of Saint-Exupéry's Little Prince.

The fox, in the book, embodies wisdom. It has several profound messages for the little prince. "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye" or "You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed." I love the character. The fox proves to be the ultimate friend at the end of the story, the kind of unconditionally accepting, utterly selfless friend everyone would like to have.

What message did my fox have for me, I wonder?