What Does the Fox Say? an entry from my symbols journal

It’s morning. I’m still caffeinating. I can hear some boy racers with gurgling souped-up engines hitting the limiter. I see the magpies kite between trees. The clouds move fast…cotton swabs fluffing across the blue. I’m blinking. Trying to remember what I wanted to write. But, anyway. I’m here. I’m here imperfectly on the page.

I know some people (because I am some people sometimes, and because my friends and my coaching clients have been some people sometimes) who feel scared about being imperfect.

But, I just feel sick of being scared. I wrote an open letter to fear in my Substack (you can read or listen to it here: https://mollyovenden.substack.com/p/to-my-fears).

I want to be free. I want to notice stuff. I want to see God at work in my life and the lives of those around me. And, I want to live life in abundance, fully alive, fully me, and fully aware.

…

I’ve been taking a course through London Writers’ Salon called, “Write the Signs.” https://community.londonwriterssalon.com/c/news-announcements/the-winter-well-uncovering-symbols-that-guide-your-writing-january-29-march-4-2025
(There might be a self-paced version available.)

And through that, I feel this beckoning to notice more and more…symbols, patterns, recurrences…

…

One of the things I’ve noticed popping up is foxes.

I don’t really know what it means or what I’m meant to pay attention to, if anything in particular, but…it feels good to give space on the page to do some noticing.

A favourite song of mine is, “What Does the Fox Say?” by Ylvis. The music video is wild, it makes me giggle every time. I always have to dance and stop mid-dancing because of the silliness. https://youtu.be/jofNR_WkoCE?si=8KILdE54AicSQXQo

A couple weekends ago, my dear, sweet, bearded furniture-making Englishman husband, Max and I were visiting friends in London and walking back to where we were staying, late at night from the train station. What did we see? A fox! Scrounging in the bins. Skinny little beast. We paused and got quiet, not wanting to cross it. And we just watched.

I remember the first time that I heard a “wild” urban fox–it was horrendous. I’ll never forget the sound. I thought: it’s like a toddler being murdered. I was scared and thought I would have to call the police. That’s horrible. Then I learned what it really was. The fox’s midnight screams sound horrible, violent, haunting, cruel, murderous…

I remember growing up surrounded by taxidermy. One of the pieces was a fox pelt. I wasn’t supposed to, but I used to stroke it as it hung on the wall. It was big. Well, I was small…so, I’m not actually sure the size of it. But, I loved its red hair. So fluffy.

I remember watching Wayne’s World, totally excellent, and the scene when Garth dances and sings to “Foxy Lady” and does little fox ear gestures above his head in time with the song. Classic. So funny. So…totally excellent.

Last week, I was out and about with my best friend (she took me out to a gallery and art shop for a belated birthday gift experience). When I took a break in the bathroom, I looked down as I dried my hands and *gasp* look at those socks! “I love your fox socks!” I smiled at the lady waiting in the queue (and at my unavoidable rhyming). “Oh, really?” She was surprised, “They were a gift and I wasn’t really sure about them, but now that you’ve said…I think I like them!” Well, I liked them for sure. And I was like…ahh! More foxes!

On the same outing, I wandered into the children’s section of the bookshop and came across this book, Fox: A Circle of Life Story by Isabel Thomas and illustrated by Daniel Egnéus. Woodland creatures are historically popular among children’s books…but, as I looked around the bookshop, this was the only one I could see with a fox on it–and there were lots of books I saw!

And, then on the way home, we drove past a string of shops…one of them has a forest green sign back with bright yellow-based-red letters: F-O-X. Hmm… I don’t know whether it was a shop, a front, a pub, or who knows what, but I definitely noticed the fox-ness…the third of the day.

“Pay Attention, Molly!” To what? I’m still not sure. But, this really got me thinking.

Since this day out, I’ve recalled a number of recent and not-too-distant memories relative to foxes.

My art mentor, Marisa Anne Cummings, has an animal wisdom deck and in a recent call, she pulled a card and it was a fox. I hadn’t thought much of it except that I think foxes are cool, I guess.

It did make me think of my hot pads I got for our new apartment a few months ago: there are foxes on the pattern. Max wasn’t super keen on them, but we needed a new set and this was the pattern at the shop that wasn’t…horrible/boring/ugly/stupid/weird…? It was a low bar, but here the foxes have come in useful…handy, actually…hehe.

And, not just in my every day reality–this set of fox hotpads has come in handy in my dreams, too! In my dream in the last month or so, Max and I were sat on the floor next to a robot. We wanted to see how human it was or how human it could be–we weren’t convinced at what’s been worrying society (that robots will overtake humans because they can take on the traits of humans). So, Max, in the dream, wanted to put it to the test to see if the robot would perform a human task: prevent injury or harm. We had a candle in front of us and Max put his finger in the candle–a little at first as it flickered, and then he held it there. The robot didn’t flinch. Max’s finger charred to dead and black. When I’d had enough, having knelt patiently, my hands ready-stowed in my fox oven mitts, I grabbed Max’s burned finger and smothered the fire, then I prayed. “Holy Spirit, Come. I pray that You’d heal Max’s finger in Jesus’ name.” And, I watched the black char disappear slowly and then turn back to flesh. Max’s finger was healed. Thank you, Jesus! And, then I woke up.

I’m also aware of foxes that surround me in one way or another:
My friend, Lindsey has a substack called “Fox in the Dark” and when I searched for it to confirm I hadn’t mis-remembered, one of my favourite poets popped up, too: Mary Oliver has a poem called “A Fox in the Dark.”

As I am seeking more poetry to be inspired by and to read more spiritual poetry, I was recommended to read Wendell Berry, and then out of the blue a friend quoted a Wendell Berry poem that has a line about being like the fox who makes more tracks than are necessary.

I also remember that my mom got fox slippers for Christmas one year–they are each designed to be worn on a particular foot so that the bum of the fox and the head of the fox are on the outside and the midsection connects when you put your feet together, but sometimes she’s put them on the wrong feet and her grandchildren giggle.

On Friday morning, last week, I was in a coffee shop, writing poetry for people on my vintage typewriter and a little boy caught my eye. He had shiny brown hair in a sort of bowl-cut/mushroom cut hairstyle like I did at his tiny age of three or four. He had so many words–like me–and, he was playing heroes. I heard his mum say he wants to dress up like a fox, so she was going to find him a costume. Then, the little boy shouted, “Fantastic Mr Fox!” It made me smile.

And, then, I remembered about 10 years ago in a small group prayer time with friends from church, we did this activity. We prayed that God would give us a word or picture for someone in the group, without knowing who it’d be for. Then, we wrote the words we felt like God might have said on a piece of paper, folded it up, and threw it into a pile with all of the others in the centre of the room. When everyone had finished, we took a moment in silence to pray again silently and ask God which piece of paper we should grab–like, which maybe had the word on it for me, individually.

I picked up my piece of paper and it was, to my surprise, the piece of paper I’d written on. I was disappointed because I had no idea what I meant. What had I written? “Fantastic Mr Fox.” When I shared my disappointment and confusion with my friend (whose house we were gathered at), she ran up to her child’s bedroom and grabbed a book…their family copy of “Fantastic Mr Fox.” She said, she thought it was a word that was less about the book itself and more about what the cover said, “award winning children’s book author.” Maybe that was the word for me, she wondered.

It’s interesting, having forgotten about that book, and having it pop up in the coffee shop from the voice of a small child. It’s intriguing, having forgotten about this prophetic prayer exercise over a decade ago…because about two years ago, I took a children’s book writing course, taught by a children’s book editor from a major publishing house. And the story I wrote was about Skunky (my childhood stuffed animal toy, a skunk) and Jim (my husband’s childhood stuffed animal toy…a fox).

And here, I am a writer.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to note or pay attention to exactly here. There are a lots of connections I could make…and I think there’s a lot that’s still percolating here.

Many people over time have noted that as humans, we are “meaning-making machines.” So, there are lots of meanings I could make here about all of the foxes.

But, I’m just not sure what I need to know, long-term.

For, now, I think it’s safe to conclude…so, what does the fox say?

“Fraka-kaka-kaka-kaka-kow!
Fraka-kaka-kaka-kaka-kow!
Fraka-kaka-kaka-kaka-kow!”

…among other things.

Who knows what other symbols and patterns I might notice. Who knows what other connections I’ll experience as I’m intentional to pay attention to signs, symbols, repetition in theme in my life.