In the quiet dawn of Hokkaido, I encountered a cross fox — a rare variation of the red fox,
revered by the Indigenous Ainu people as the highest of the fox deities.
They called it a divine messenger, a spirit that moves between the seen and the unseen.
Yet in other tales, its appearance foretold misfortune — a silent omen wrapped in fur and flame.
That morning, it stood before me in stillness, its gaze unwavering,
as if aware of an ancient truth carried through the land.
The light touched its coat like a whisper from the divine,
and for a brief moment, the boundary between the sacred and the living world seemed to fade away.
This was not merely an encounter with an animal —
it was a quiet revelation, a reminder that the sacred still walks among us.
