Another deer picture: this one by my daughter, Butterfly.
Late last week, she had a rather marvellous encounter with a deer. One lunch hour, she left her work place to go for a little, spirit-replenishing walk in some nearby woods. It was a snowy day, and Butterfly busied herself taking pictures of "the boughs all hung with snow." (Dickinson)
She turned a corner, cast her glance sideways and spied this deer gazing intently on her. Living within city limits and out of hunting territory, this deer was quite obviously habituated. She and Butterfly both stood their ground, each staring intently into the other's window to the soul. Behold, if a a second deer didn't come along to join the inspection.
While this second deer soon moved along, the first stayed and even moved-in closer while Butterfly stood in thrall. Eventually, my daughter had to be the one to break this contact, for work beckoned, and she had already made herself late. As she walked away, Butterfly kept glancing back, and beheld as the deer's eyes followed every inch of her progress until the line of sight was broken.
The moment that Butterfly got to work, she phoned here and excitedly described her encounter to Cuppa; she was clearly over the moon. When she dropped by that evening, she told it all to me too. Although my wife had already recounted the story, there's nothing like hearing it in the enthused and awestruck voice of one who had so recently been blessed by the serendipitous hand of nature.
To quote Doris from her deer poem, The Sacred:
It touches a place in me where wildness dwells -
A long forgotten, hidden place that shivers in sudden resonance.
I'm sure that's how Butterfly felt. Thank god for poets like Doris who are able to inform us of our own feelings.
I wrote this before Butterfly posted her account and more pictures on her somewhat neglected blog: Butterfly Wings.