I watched as they gracefully walked across the freshly fallen snow. A fawn pranced ahead of the group, bounding into the air effortlessly and landing softly upon the powder. They came to the edge of the field and stopped, cautiously listening for any sound of danger. Slowly, they walked into the field in front of my in-law’s country home and approached the deer feeder. A fire roared in the fireplace to my right, crackling and popping and sizzling with warmth and energy, and I enjoyed the serene beauty of nature - the life before me, around me, beside me. Alisha slept peacefully on a pillow, tummy full from her first morning meal.
But then, the deer froze. Their muscles taut, their ears back, listening, waiting. They would turn toward the line of trees and wait, ready to bound into the safety of cover if the need arouse. After a few moments of intense listening, they went back to grazing in the field. This cycle continued as the deer ate, occasionally freezing in fear and listening for any sign of danger. Go on, little deer, it’s ok. There is no danger here, I urged in my thoughts. I knew they were safe, but the deer did not. “Skittish little animals, aren’t they?” I asked my husband between sips of hot coffee as we both stared out the window.
“It’s how they survive,” he shrugged matter-of-factly.
I understand that, I thought. And the morning rolled on lazily…
