LIKE SOMETHING OR MAYBE THE DEER WATCHING FROM THE DISTANCE

One deer was just standing there, staring, waiting. Calm. Collected. I wondered what it was doing. As it turned out it was looking at me, but really waiting for his friend, sibling, whatnot, to follow. And soon such did, as the second one came out from the bushes and then they both crossed. They were large, and light and dark brown. I loved them. I was too slow with the camera. I think that they often cross there. I read that deer and coyotes often stay settled near the roads and underpasses because, oddly enough, once they get accustomed to the sound, there is no foot traffic, no people. People go into the forests, along the path, with their bikes, dogs, gear, et cetera. So they have a good enough life there, if not perfect. Heck, they have grown large and muscular and healthy and stealthy so something must have gone right. There is a little path, hard to discern, that leads that way. I have never taken it. One day I might. Beyond there is a wide opening, a large hill, and sometimes a group of wild turkeys walks and then flies away. Far back there I once noticed, as if in a painting, a group of deer. They were eating I think. Then they quickly dispersed. The animals are so sensitive, coy, alert, and intelligent. It all makes for a well-wrought picture in a picture, painting, piece or writing, or just the mind’s eye. The blue with clouds above, a yellow field or hill, the summit overgrown quite beautifully with purple and white and yellow and even strange orange flowers. Trees. Trees with so much character one would think they are going to come alive, to talk, to move. And I walk into it all, let it envelope me. Walking and walking, I see berries that have grown and weighted the branches down over the paths just so. And mushrooms by the dozen, - so many different varieties. Moss. Sometimes rocks, but not a lot of rocks. Dare I say I wish, if there was one thing I could wish for, that there were a few more rocks, large boulders and small river tumbled stones. They are there, to a degree. And maybe one deer or another was inside where I went. I didn’t hear it. But maybe it was watching and didn’t move. Or else it could have. Prancing quickly away to the other direction.

Like a spirit.

Like a dream artifact from late in the fifth dream of a lone and cool night of magic.

Like a vision.

Like a sign.

Like something.
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