From the start of our life together, through the raising of our daughters, and still, Tom and I meet in the kitchen round about six for our evening meal. Monday, as the cold day grew old, I wandered into the kitchen to preheat the oven for our supper. Turning it on, I heard the long click, click, click as our geriatric oven labored to ignite.
As I waited, pulling out a roasting pan and cutting board, I detected motion just beyond our deck. There, in the stark, cold, blue haze of the retreating day, were a family of deer, knee-deep in snow, foraging in the cleared lot next door. Sensing my presence inside the house, I was being watched as much as they were.
They rummaged, deep, through several feet of snow, unearthing decomposing leaves and vegetation. A head would pop up with whatever was found hanging out and snow covering its nose. I admired their gracefulness as they walked through the deep snow and leapt over the mounds of dirt left by the developer of the property.
The deer ate their meals as I prepared ours, the daily rhythms of life quietly coexisting indoors and out.
As the deer moved purposefully along in their journey, they passed me looking out of the dining room window, then out to the front gardens they roamed. For a brief moment they stopped, perhaps casing the plots for a late night raid. The deer looked toward me, viewing them now from the living room window. They made their way to their trampled path in the snow, and off to their forest home, leaping over four feet of snow mounded by the city snowplows, their signature white tales at full mast behind them. I turned and went back to kitchen. It was round about six and time to meet my mate for supper.
I encourage you to click onto the pictures to get a better look at these beautiful creatures.