My unnamed stray cat and I just watched a little spike, probably about two years old, and four small doe grazing, not more casually than carelessly, on the grass and on some old apples by the bird feeders in the backyard. As it was only two nights past the harvest moon (the full moon nearest the autumnal equinox), the air was quite cool, slightly foggy, and it was rather easy to see them from only a couple paces away, a couple of paces that I eventually, after some deliberation, resolved to take, barefoot in the damp grass, mistakenly overcoming the chirping song of the crickets, and regrettably sending them skittishly off over the honeysuckle lined fence, across the wide misty field, to disappear in the far woods. It was as if the spirits of the forest had grown so comfortable in a latesummer nights dream that, to their dismay, they accidentally exposed themselves to us, only to rush off upon this realization, leaving us alone to finish our cherry vanilla ice cream in rigid silence.
Posted on: Wed, 10 Sep 2014 07:49:08 +0000
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