In the soft lavender haze,
three does graze in the yard.
Heads down, of necessity;
guard lowered … never.
As I tiptoe to a closer vantage point,
my knee brushes the rocker by the window
and it protests with a gutteral creak.
Heads up!
Instantly, they morph
into a trio of lawn statues.
Seconds pass like minutes.
They leap the tall grass
in a single scattershot blast!
Moving in unison
on a primal cue,
they have melded into the trees
before I can remember to exhale.
Seated with my coffee, in the comfort
and relative safety of home,
curiosity sets in.
(It could kill the cat,
but lack of it can down a deer.)
Was there ever a time they knew trust,
or were they predestined prey?
Is raw fear the trade-off
for beauty, grace,
and direct communion with the earth?
Could humans adapt
to live in such a state
of perpetual anxiety?
Or have we?
———
2011 Mary Boren
View discussion.