a tale from foxtail

fox glides, low to the ground

sly, inquisitive, resourceful creatures

solitary, bronzed and ruddy with flashing eyes

bushy tail dipped in white

forest home or urban domain

fox, a nocturnal pilgrim

Summer has afforded me an opportunity to move about aimlessly; not quite a coddiwomple, but sort of. This week, I found myself writing and sipping iced chai at Foxtail Bakery. Let's just say the cookies were perfect and divine; I was completely tempted to purchase more pastries than I should.

There's a tall counter with white-backed stools and a big garage door to let in light and fresh air. Picture windows face the street. Cars buzz by. Black and white striped umbrellas twirl like the tutu of a ballerina.

Assorted tables and chairs in turquoise and orange fill the space, along with a low-slung wooden table and bistro chairs. Some new-school rattan is thrown in for good measure. It's comfortable and alive.

A larger-than-life mural presides over one wall. A fox and owl, birds and bees, butterflies and flowers all poised on a gray backdrop. It's cheerful and woodsy in a cool, hip way. Fox's eyes look right at you.

Lively, vibrant, a gathered place on an urban street.

There's noise, voices and cups clinking and other kitchen sounds. Pastries and cookies and rainbow hued macaroons fill glass cases. I suck the last bit of iced chai, set my pen down and take in the genial environment.

Missy

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