James Freitas
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Bio:
James Freitas is a New England-based writer, photographer, birdwatcher and fly fishing enthusiast with an interest in how wildlife, the environment, and humanity intersect. His writing has appeared in The Atlantic, Atlas Obscura, Hakai magazine, and others. In 2015, he graduated with a BA in English from Santa Clara University, and went on to study Cultural Reporting & Criticism, earning an MA in Journalism from NYU’s Carter Journalism School. You can read more of his work at his website, or by subscribing to his newsletter.
Thoughts on A Local Fox
Was the fox hurried? She seemed so, trotting along the edge of the ravine thin legs moving smoothly, dark
umber like she’d been knee-deep in
mud.
Despite our differences in size
of body and of brain, I’ve never seen a fox and felt I had the advantage.
I once drove an hour to a wildlife rescue center to see a fox—guiltily hoping to get close—and study
one under less evasive
circumstances: count the whiskers
of its snout see slivers of light
reflected in the wetness of its eyes.
Over the entirety of the visit, the fox did not show itself.
On the drive home I thought of that hurried wild fox, trotting
along wherever she was, while I sat on the interstate—knowing the
lengths I’d gone for a glimpse, a thing
only foxes are entitled to give or take away.
Sparrowhawk
A sparrowhawk stands still her head twitching
incrementally along its axis of
perception. Her eyes, between blinks, are obsidian droplets, haloed by gold—animate
eclipses wide and gorging on every detail of the visible world.
They seem unmoving but they move constantly, if you look: quivering, trembling as if struggling to contain all they see.
