What you’re about to read is a story full of metaphors. Don’t take anything for granted.
Her hand slapped onto the smooth bark of the thickest branch of the Chokecherry tree, which bordered mother and father’s apple orchard. She pulled herself up and leaned against the trunk. From here, she could see the thick and worn wooden gate at the opening of the drive. One of its double doors was half open and swaying ever so gently in the summer’s breeze. She dragged her hand across her tear stained face. If only she could make it to that gate.
A door slammed at her house down the lane from her hidden position. A man came out and started walking towards the yellow barn opposite of the house. The man was the girl’s father. A good man, who was proud and hard working with strong hands that created the most beautiful metal works the whole country side would see for miles. People flocked from all over to look at the almost magic that came from his hands. But those hands were not strong enough for some.
“Kell?” the man said in a calm tone, waving one of his hands high above his head. He couldn’t see her sanctuary in the tree, but he knew she was there. The girl slowly shifted her almond-eyed gaze from the gate to her father who had now gone into the barn after a lack of response. Kell took another glance back at the gate, which now looked farther away than ever. She slipped down the tree’s surface like she has done a hundred times, and ran down a small field of wildflowers her mother had planted long ago.
When Kell approached the barn, she kicked a loose rock from the drive, which ricocheted through the entrance of the workshop. Kell snuggled up against the door frame edge, and peeked inside, her eyes looking unblinkingly at the man who raised her. Her father sat on a metal stool, looking almost defeated. “Hey kid,” said her father. “Come here, I want to show you something.”
Kell shuffled timidly into the shop and stood next to her father’s work bench. He slowly stood and reached high on one of the shelves, and pulled down a metal fox. He brought it in front of his daughter’s face. She smiled at the fox and looked up at her father with bright eyes.
“You like it? You see the eyes…foxes have the most mysterious eyes, do you know?” Kell looked at the fox’s eyes. They seemed to be almost translucent, whitish stones. “Let me show you.” Father hit the lights, and everything went black. “Stand back,” he motioned, as he guided her a foot backward. He then lit a torch he used for welding, and the most glorious blaze erupted around them. The blue fire danced on the torch, and the metal work that flooded the shop began to shimmer. “People call foxes animals of luck, and the ones I have met are full of mystery – of secrets.” He held the torch at an angle so the light bounced off the metal of the fox, and the eyes began to give.
“Foxes appear in times of transformations, and when you least expect it, they guide you to make unimaginable choices. Some say they are tricksters, but when you look closely…” Kell’s eyes became almost mesmerized by the flame, and as she gazed, she swears she saw a teal colored spark waver inside the stone eyes of the fox. Father continued, “You see, unimaginable choices are really victories.” The light wandered across the fox’s eyes, down its body of metal swirly fur and the curves of its paws.
Something had awakened, somewhere far off and unimaginable.
I hope you liked the beginning of The Girl & the Fox! Every Sunday, I will be posting a new type of story. Some will be more of the same fables, others will be true stories of travel. But all are original and mine. You can subscribe to receiving these stories in your mail as well!