Gratitude...

to a fox and praying mantis

Nov 16, 2023

When I committed to writing letters of gratitude this month…

I imagined myself penning heartfelt letters to humans, not a fox and a praying mantis. To complicate matters even more, I intended to mail these letters and I do not know where my friends live or if they are fluent in any other language we share aside from energy.

Nonetheless, I let the words flow and decided to share them with them on Substack instead. Foxes and praying mantises read Substack, right?

Have you had any magical animal encounters that you want to express gratitude for drop them in the comments!

PS: Want to explore wellness through the power of writing? Join me on 11/21.

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Dear Praying Mantis,

I’m sorry for almost killing you with the lawnmower. I owe whatever made me stop a second before I came across your lime green, lanky self its own letter of gratitude.

Your size took me by surprise. So did your friendliness as I scooped you up to inspect you closer. I suppose I owe you an apology for that as well.

However, I’m grateful for the lessons you taught me in the palm of my hand. Your long legs provided the reassurance that it is okay to reach for hopes and desires that might seem out of our grasp. You also were a powerful reminder that it is okay to not fit in and stand out.

I hope that I can embody what you taught me about moving intentionally and deliberately.

I promise to be more mindful with the lawnmower because I’d love to see you again.

Wholeheartedly,

Maggie

Dear Fox,

I want to say thank you, but first a question. Were you bothered by the piles of humans like me that flocked to the beach on the unseasonably warm full moon night when we met? Did we interrupt your own plans to bask in the moonlight? I’m sorry if you were, but I’m grateful our paths crossed.

You caught me off guard. Admittedly, my brain was somewhere between, “Why am I so bad at lighting fires? I’d made a terrible caveman” and “I wish I didn’t eat so much for dinner” when I looked up and met your gaze.

In that moment, you taught me the power of intentional silence. You reminded me strength, beauty, and grace can co-exist. As the full moon illuminated you, and the sea was your backdrop, you provided physical evidence of the magic and support that can only come from something divine.

As soon as you arrived, you were gone–a call back to connection and presence that I desperately needed.

If we cross paths again, perhaps I will get the chance to share this with you.