On closer inspection it became obvious.
The fox had not been dancing alone. The Queen of Winter, who loved him so, had frozen the pond especially to dance with her russet darling. In a moment of careless abandon she discarded her crown in the garden. It has begun to melt.
They danced again on the pond the next night, beneath a sky clear of all but stars, and then she gave her rust red lover the gift of a lapwing.
He left the wrapping in the lane, still soft, beaded with frozen tears.
Again she gave him the feast of a warm bird to slake his appetite grown fierce by dancing.
And he gave her a crown of tangled feather and winter’s thorns to replace her lost crown of ice. For now the love they both carried for each other had begun to thaw their dancing place. So they curled, tired to dreaming from three nights of passionate revelry, around each other, wrapped in love and russet fur.
(From 2009. A version of this story can be found in the Barefoot Diaries no: 3)