Deer in the Morning

The other day I was leaving my neighborhood in my car, heading to work. I was preoccupied, checking to make sure I had my phone, finding my favorite radio station, pulling my seatbelt over my lap.

I turned a corner and gasped, touching the brakes.  In front of me in the road stood four or five deer, looking at me calmly, necks high, eyes wide, one hoof pulled up; hesitant but not scared.

They were beautiful.  We just stared at each other; like a kid I longed to go up to them and stand with them; say something to them that they would understand.  Deer make you feel strangely isolated; they will rarely let you get close enough to touch them or pet them, and they are shy and aloof.  Their eyes are huge; I hadn't realized how big their eyes were.

They come to the neighborhood we have recently moved to a lot, I hear; we are close to conservation land and they make appearances as their woods disappear a little more each year.  They looked vulnerable and stiff on the asphalt, but still beautiful, and wild.

It was 7:30 am, and my day had already been made.  Stumbling on amazing nature when your mind is elsewhere is always the best kind of high.