It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

kind of mythopoesis

IWGD

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.