Red Fox Suburbia--Jacob wrestling an Angel

   
   "Red Fox Suburbia--Jacob wrestling an Angel"
  
   Nevada was beginning to enjoy the morning paralysis, knowing not every essence is on the nefarious spectrum, and that sometimes God extracts our attention, for God tests the just man, and that means woman too, in a manner of speaking.
   After a sloppy yawn, some spittle flickering, yet not enough to gross out a Levite, Nevada went to the window of her mild and modest habitat placed within a bucolic geography, as if Faulkner was still wearing Colonel Sanders' wardrobe, but drinking the heavy spirits, and didn't prefer it extra-crispy.
   Outside the window, entertaining with its handsome countenance delivered downwards to a bushy tail stood a Vulpes vulpes, the fox of all the foxes, looking at a mole, though none was there, as if sensing the frequency buried beneath the Earth--an Earth Tesla said he could crack with a certain frequency, but all he desired was to offer free energy, which of course made corporations a bit uneasy.
   Nevada knew, but wanted no part, only interested and curious concerning walks in the park, jellyfish, and the make-up of the essences contained within the Celestial Hierarchy, as hinted at by Dionysius the Areopagite.  It was a modest way to pass time, and today she had to get another exotic fish for her tank, to kick the Fight Club of relaxation up a bit, and show her fractured father a bit of smooth contentment, merged with, of course, the high-pitched sounds of Valkyries recollected by sopranos still in league with Wagner.    
   And boy, are goldfish resilient.  She won one at a fair when she was approaching adolescence, and it lived all the way till her last juicy zit.