The BridgeI’m late. I always seem to be running late. Through here and across the footbridge. I can still make it.“No! Please not now.”Landing in the mud is never a good sign. Did I hurt anything? No, just scraps. Good. Oh, crap. What about my pants? Just mud, no tears. Whew, that was close.Looking up, my gaze falls into a deep golden pool of wide-spaced cat’s eyes, gazing back at me from a face not belonging to a feline of any persuasion. High-pricked ears swiveled toward me, the mouth opened; not to threaten but to warn. Teetering on wobbly legs, less than a foot from my hand was the kit.Small, defenseless, wet; it mewed almost as my sister’s kitten. So sweet did it look, trying to find its mother. Momma fox watched me watching her progeny. Would I ever again see something so unique, so unguarded?Breathing shallow, forgetting time, I can only marvel and drink in what life is really about.