The Little Red Fox

A little fox was on the road. A little red fox with a bit of white under his tail and a pointy nose was staring at me from a distance. A car came by and he ran into the woods.

As I came to the place where he had been standing I heard a rustling in the trees. "Hello little red fox," I called out. And then it dawned on me. That little fox did not know he was a fox.

He was just a fox. Without judgement or knowledge that he was a fox. 

Just a fox. Unaware but still so much. So beautiful. So wily. So majestic. 

Quick as a fox. Sly as a fox. Cute as a fox. All expressions I grew up with and have carried with me.

Yet that little fox was free. And isn't freedom an aspiration?

He was completely free of the whole notion of self concept. 

How would that feel I thought to be completely unaware of myself, how others saw me? How would it feel to be free of thinking about the way I think?

If self improvement, self reflection, self understanding were notions, I could not understand.

If I was just a little fox walking down the road.

Just being a fox would be enough.