A fox at the threshold: Beauty, loss, and a wild farewell

Posted on May 15, 2025 in Spiritual living, Uncategorized

Fox at the threshold

It was a bright late afternoon, the kind that has become familiar in recent weeks – soft gold slanting through blossoming hedgerows, the road humming gently beneath the wheels. I was nearly home, lulled by the quiet rhythm of the drive, when something glimmered on the edge of consciousness. Turning into the narrow lane that led into the valley cradling my little hamlet, the ordinary moment cracked open.

There, sudden and still as a statue in a dream, stood a fox.

If you prefer to listen then play the video below. Otherwise, read on.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CxvGeAyM_eo&ab_channel=SemeleXerri

Their coat flamed vivid red against the grey tarmac, eyes capturing mine with an amber gaze so steady, so startlingly present, that I froze. Without thought, I stopped the car and flicked on the hazard lights, as if to mark a sacred boundary for unfolding enchantment.

They held their position; elegant, fragile, one paw lifted in mid-step. Their face was turned towards me, the line of their body alert but unmoving. My heart leapt with the rare joy of such a meeting. In the deep woodland where I live, foxes are more often heard than seen. Fleeting rustles at twilight, distant barks at midnight. This close, silent encounter was a long-desired gift.

We watched each other. For a moment stretched thin by wonder, nothing else existed. The lane, the car, even the warm air submerged in the well of communion. It was just the fox and me, two ensouled animals measuring one another through the long lens of stillness.

But then the beauty wavered, tinged now with concern. This was full daylight. The fox had not bolted, had not slinked away into the undergrowth. It stood exposed in the middle of the road, making no move for cover. Gently, I opened the car door and stepped out.

That’s when I saw the truth.

The lifted paw was not poised but injured. The fox hopped once, a wince more than a motion, then stopped again, looking back at me with something close to surrender. They were bone-weary, every breath weighted. I tried a slow step forward, and they barely moved. Just another strained hop, followed by that same look; resigned, watchful, too tired to flee.

A car appeared behind me. I had to act. I climbed back in, started the engine, and inched forward softly, eyes never leaving the fox’s. It was extraordinary, the way they held my gaze. No panic, only the strange, silent exchange of understanding. I hoped to guide them gently, to urge them away from the hard edges of the road.

There was a gap ahead on the left, a neighbour’s garden long untended, all overgrown grasses and quiet corners, a kind of sanctuary. I moved the car in small nudges. Each time, the fox answered with a painful hop, then turned to look back, as if asking, “Is this right?” And each time, I met their gaze and sent my answer wordlessly: Go. You’re safe. Keep going.

At last, they saw the opening. They veered off through the grasses, and sank into the sheltering green. There, in the unkempt quiet, they sat and panted. Still watching, still present, but safe now, just beyond the reach of danger.

I parked a little further up the road and walked back slowly, each step quiet, measured, not wanting to disturb a single breath of the world around me. The fox was still there, half-hidden in the hush of the undergrowth, eyes sharp, watching me with a mixture of wariness and weariness. As I drew closer, they shifted; just enough to slip into the shadowed cover of a nearby bush, a final instinct for shelter.

I didn’t follow. I stood still, the air steeped in a quiet knowing. I could feel it, not with my mind but in the deeper reaches of my heart. The fox was fading. Not today, perhaps, but soon. They had the look of an animal whose thread was fraying thin, whose bones knew the time that the rest of the world had not yet accepted. They needed stillness, safety, and solitude. And I would make sure they had it.

My partner and I told our neighbour as a courtesy, so someone else would know they were there, and placed cat food and a bowl of water nearby — just in case there was a spark left in the creature, a chance they might choose to rise again with the help of nourishment. We could only offer. The choice was not ours.

A few hours later, I returned to check. They were still curled there, silent and unmoving. The dusk had deepened around them, that betwixt and between space where something in the poignant pause spoke clearly; this was a waiting. A soft, final waiting.

By morning, they were gone.

My fox's resting place

Not far from where they had last lain, the fox had shrugged off its fiery coat. Their body was peaceful, stretched out as though sleeping in the grass, and yet the weight of its absence pressed gently but firmly against my chest. I stood beside them as tears fell – brimming with beauty and sorrow, tender, slow, grateful.

Grateful for the meeting.
Grateful for the glimpse into their wild, precious life.
Grateful to bear witness as they melted into the Mystery.

I gathered daisies from the verge, white-petalled and sun-hearted, and scattered them over the fox’s body. A quiet blessing. A gesture of thanks. I whispered a few words to the glittering spirit I felt still lingering nearby, honouring its journey onward. Beyond the edge of physical sight, into the yet wilder wonder of the Otherworld.

“Let me abide in your shadow –
Let me hold on
To the edge of your robe
As you determine what
You must let be lost
And what will be saved.”
Excerpt from “The Fox” by Mary Oliver

In myth and folklore around the world foxes are regarded as magical creatures who move easily and freely between the dimensions, bridging the natural and Other worlds, the wild and human realities. They’re liminal creatures, often seen at dusk and other in between times; a fox at the threshold indeed. They’re often linked with feminine magic, invisibility, shapeshifting, and transformation. Their fire-bright red coats suggest the embodiment of creative lifeforce – kundalini.

To explore the spiritual messages animal encounters may bring you, I highly recommend the book Animal Speak by Ted Hughes as a sound starting point. I also love the Druid Animal Oracle Deck. The true symbolism will be personal to you, shaped by the circumstances and environment in which you meet and the behaviour of the animal at that time.

Conversing with animals is very possible and real when approached from a grounded presence and an open, loving heart. Animal Communication is an aspect of my work that I absolutely love.

If you come across an injured fox and would like to know how best to help, or simply feel called to protect these wonderful animals, the UK based National Fox Welfare Society has useful information, contacts, and resources.

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Semele Xerri

© Semele Xerri is a psychic intuitive guide, healer, animal communicator, and Reiki Healer / Master Teacher. To find out more about her and her services, go to her Work with me page.
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