I’m pretty sure I heard deer rustling in the shrubbery at the creek this morning. I went early, drawn by the sky and maybe surprised them.
I know they’re there. I’ve seen hoof prints in winter and people occasionally report seeing them on lawns.
Always seems a bit strange—that something as beautiful as deer can be found in urban settings. Unsettling really. A reminder we’ve encroached on their space.
They come for the water, follow the creek from north of here where, despite best efforts of developers, it’s still pretty woodsy.
I saw them only once. Two winters ago a pair of white-tailed beauties leapt across the path where I walked and then into a copse of spruce.
I like how so much goes on here regardless of us. Coyotes, fox, rabbits, stray cats, wild apple trees. They all know what to do, they manage. Until they don’t.
Nothing here doesn’t have a purpose.
Except what the largest brains contribute.