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[personal profile] rejectomorph
Night has again slipped by as the moon became round. A herd of deer passed up the street after midnight, their hooves clattering on the pavement. They were gray in the moonlight which was softened by thin, silver sheets of cloud. I watched them until they vanished in the shade of the oaks. They did not run this time, though they must have seen me more clearly than I saw them. This particular group must be getting used to seeing me outdoors at night. I'm pleased that they continue to visit even though I no longer have flowers growing in the yard. I wonder if they miss their snack of pansies? They probably view the abundant roses across the street as adequate compensation. I hope they return tomorrow night, when the moon is entirely full.

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rejectomorph

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