The River’s Lesson

I been walkin’ these woods since sunrise, boots crunchin’ over leaves wet with dew. Air crisp, smell of pine thick in my nose. I ain’t come here for no fun—I came to think, to breathe, to remember I got choices in a world that often try to tell me I don’t.

That’s when I seen the fox. Lil’ red thing, tail bushy, eyes sharp. It stopped like it knew I was watchin’. Didn’t run. Didn’t bark. Just…looked. Freedom look like that. Ain’t chained by worry or expectation. Just present, alert, alive. I whispered, “Teach me.” Not that it could answer, but I listened anyway.

I followed the fox down by the river. Water rushin’, stones slick, mist in the air. Motivation hit me like the cold spray on my face: life ain’t gonna wait on me. You can stand still, but the world still move. Fox paused at a bend, sniffed, then darted through the underbrush. I stepped careful, learnin’ patience. Wildlife behave in ways that show survival requires awareness and respect (National Park Service). I felt that truth deep.

I paused on a big rock, water swirling below. Sun hit the surface, sparkled. Birds called out. Even the smallest creatures carried courage and rhythm. A squirrel hopped from branch to branch, quick, deliberate. Nature don’t panic. It act, it adjust, it persist. That lesson stuck with me.

Hours passed. Forest got quiet again. I walked home slow, boots muddy, lungs burnin’ but steady. Fox gone. River still. Birds singing somewhere above. But motivation lingered. Freedom ain’t always grand gestures. Sometimes it’s the quiet lesson from the smallest creatures, remindin’ you to move steady, be aware, and trust yourself to survive.

By the time I reached the edge of the woods, chest heavy but calm, I knew one thing for sure: courage ain’t always loud. Sometimes it’s soft, hidden in patience, observation, and the choice to keep goin’ even when nobody watch.

Works Cited (MLA)

National Park Service. “Red Fox.” U.S. Department of the Interior, nps.gov.