Calming the Deer

Stepping quietly out my front door tonight, I heard leaves crackling on the lawn. I turned on my flashlight, but shone it away from the direction from which the sound came, and gradually brought the beam around to where the edge of the cone of light illuminated a doe standing next to the rose bush, about twenty feet from my position. I stood very still, watching her from the corner of my eye, as she slowly walked across the yard toward the neighbor's house. She went into the neighbor's yard, and stood quietly for a moment. Then, something startled her and she ran down the block. After a moment, one of my cats came around the corner of my house. Apparently, it was she, climbing over our side yard fence, who had startled the deer. I have seen deer startled by cats before, but this deer, at least, seems to be growing accustomed to my presence. Now, if only she can grow accustomed to my inquisitive cats.

I Should Have Called This Journal "Local Weather Report."

Today truly feels like fall: crisp air and toasty sun. It is a perfect day to sit and watch the crows swoop and glide and gather in the tops of the pine trees, calling to one another in their harsh but oddly comic crow language. The apples have been harvested from the orchard, and the thinning foliage of the oaks reveals new and more intricate patterns of sky. The leaves of the dogwoods continue to darken to deeper shades of red, in pleasing contrast to the brightness of the clusters of berries which now adorn them. The chamade of acorns continues to summon the squirrels, and the rain, for the moment, remains only a promise for the days yet to come. Now, I will go and watch the last yellow rays of sun touch the crow-filled tops of the trees.