At dusk yesterday a fox trotted alongside me as I walked up a hill on Sundown Ridge. He floated past at a silent gallop, veered left, and watched me. I stopped and watched him. A grey fox, rather larger than some, with the distinctive black ridge along the length of the tail. I expected him to sprint into the brush under the interpersonal pressure, but he maintained his gaze, and it was I who broke first, who moved on.

Perhaps his species is more composed than the red fox, who seems high strung, almost agitated, and recedes at a blink. Or maybe this individual grey fox just happened to interact with me in this way on this day.