Ode to the Parking Lot, Where I Park for Work

There are things,
The likes of which, too often we don’t see,
For me, this morning it was a fox, soft and furry,
Driving into my parking lot,
Backing up to park my car,
Head facing out,
In the raised embankment,
There he was, rummaging for carrion,
As I worked my way out of my car with attaché in hand,
Scurry away he did, with the carcass of something in his mouth,
Not eight feet from the sidewalk to my office’s side entrance, there he was,
Under the cover of pre-dawn skis, having his breakfast,
I thought to myself, “I can’t say I would see this too often, near anywhere else.”
If nothing else, my parking lot fox served as a reminder, as to why here I moved.