I rowed my small metal boat forward quietly through the lily pads, slowing each time I heard the scratching of plant stems against the sides of the boat. The mist covered the creek on low hanging clouds like spirals of white cotton candy. I came to an opening where I knew there was a deep spot in the creek and baited my hook. Tossing the line in the water I waited for several minutes before I caught a slight movement from the corner of my eye. Without turning my head I waited patiently as the young red fox emerged from the thick vegetation. Warily it looked around for any sign of danger, then dipped its head to lap the cool waters of the creek. Without any sound the fox slipped quietly back into the woods from which it had come leaving only a few slight foot prints and this 40 year old memory. steve
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