Talk about pragmatic animals. And people. It just makes sense for the progression of life towards an ending that isn’t tragic, but it isn’t happy either.
To be content about what things are does take a lot of courage, not to demand but to accept everything as it is. In the stories, foxes are seen as curious creatures, waiting in a distance, observing the snow, the people and the little scraps of food.
There’s no urgency like a racoon ransacking trash bins. It just exist, and in this world, food is abundant.
Perhaps there’s no tricks or deceptions that makes the fox more cunning than most fabled creatures. It simply accepts that perhaps, grapes that are not within it’s reach are not ripe to be savored, and move on.
Perhaps, chickens that are too clever to follow into its den are not juicy enough to satisfy its appetite, and find better prey.
Perhaps, flowers left on my doorsteps to wither are not meant to
be taken care of, and leave for good.