Where they sleep

 

Last night before I went to bed, I pinched open the blinds in the spare room to see if any deer were in the back yard. There were three dark shadows bedded down under the pine in the place they’ve slept the past few nights, their bodies melting the snow over the fallen needles, the needles I left unraked in the fall because I knew this is where they sleep. They had been working their way around the yard at dusk checking under the bird feeders, looking for corn.  I think they come from the little draw behind my neighbor’s house, checking their feeders first. During the day the short distance between our yards and feeders sees a lot of avian activity, my time is lost watching this activity but the heart slows and if one must lose time something this full of grace is certainly okay. With all the snow we’ve had the yard’s transit routes are easily followed. The deer do wider arcs away from the houses, whereas the cats that are out and about hug the walls and squeeze behind shrubs. While I was thinking about the deer and looking for some poems to read at an open mic tonight, I found this winter poem from a few years back.

Winter garden
 
The pine flaunts its green -- more brilliant
with the falling snow -- only a stellar jay
on the back of the bench gains more notice.
 
Each shadow holds secrets as quiet as dusk.
Listen, a breeze shushes light. The wheelbarrow’s
handle drops half its load onto the path.
 
A fence post, suddenly smooth, balances
wire, full of down and chickadees,
when either takes flight, magic.
 
Back in the woods, right where night collides
with stars, two does pause, heads high
waiting for the garden to sleep.

~~M.E. Hope

And here's a picture of a little buck that visited one fall, I've loved this picture for the bright flame of the grass. Be safe, be kind, waste some time watching.