Did the fox see me?

Silently, an autumn-leaf, tangerine-coloured blur dashed across the tarmac. The blur, for some time, had been patiently waiting in the dark, nestled in the bushes for the loud, impatient cars to finish taking their turns whizzing past. When it was his turn, the blur put one paw in front of the other, and very elegantly (and silently) crossed the road. After the fox reached the other side, he stopped being a blur and sat up, twisting his head like a corkscrew, both minding his own business and everybody else’s. The fox then must have heard the crunchy tread of my foot hitting the pavement on the other side of the road, as his head snapped towards me - this time not so much like a corkscrew. His ears shot up and he glanced over the road at me, but he didn’t seem frightened - he was just being cautious, I believe. I abruptly stopped walking and we locked eyes. As we stared at each other, I took a moment to hear the whistling wind around me, and the smell of wet grass hanging in the air. I couldn’t see the fox all that well, as the only lights illuminating either of us were decades-old street lamps that were so yellow that I was concerned about whether they should be replaced. These street lamps hummed faintly, as if they were harmonising with the sweeter, more tuneful whistling wind. The fox and I still had our eyes locked, and I felt I could see him - not just in the physical sense, but on a more relatable level. We were both out here on a dark and cold night after all. I must’ve not looked like much of a threat, as the fox sat down properly and seemed to relax. I felt I could actually see him let go of the tension within his limbs. I wondered, and even whispered under my breath (partially because I was embarrassed about talking to an animal, and partially because speaking too loudly could scare the fox off), something about how gracious he was. “What a magnificent animal,” I think I said, although probably not as succinct as that. Once again, I heard the whistling wind, the humming street lights, and smelt the lush grass. The fox edged closer slightly, which I like to think was because he was just as interested in me as I was in him. I dared to whisper again, “Do you see me?”, and I wondered if he wanted to ask the same thing. I crouched down to get on his level, and although a road separated us, I could see straight into his eyes. They were much the same as mine, and feeling philosophical, I thought about whether he was just as “in there” as I was. After all, I only have my own experiences as proof I’m alive. I knew nothing of this fox and his lived experience. Did he too smell the wet grass, did he hear the reverberating hum of the street lights? Could he also feel the calm winds on his fur, just as I could feel them on my skin? I sat with these thoughts for a while, all whilst still being locked in eyes with him. Another car whizzed past and the fox scampered off, but I had felt some strange connection to this beautiful orange painted creature, and I walked home thinking whether he was also feeling the same as I.