I prefer to call “it” Spot, because Bengal Boy assumes too much. This gorgeous animal has been hanging out in our yard nearly every day, and tries to get Gus to play with him/her. It stole one cat toy already and nearly got away with a second.
What parents of such an expensive and exotic creature would let it roam the neighborhood? Is she really homeless? Is he just lonely? I’m halfway hoping our foster-parenting might lead to outright adoption. But for now, we just admire the beauty.
It was a foggy morning, but warm weather was expected to assault my newly-planted beds and pots at church, so I made a quick and early trip over to make sure everything was moist. Not as quick as expected because as I drove past the lakeside park between my house and the church, the waterfowl were making one of their frequent expeditions into the street, and I noticed–goslings!
Normally this is the scene. It’s amazing how many different directions all these creatures can point in at once, when I am trying to take their picture.
We also have Canada Geese, but you have to see this picture I got off the Web of a gander from somewhere else, because ours were segregated this morning, way down at the other end of the park.
Mom and aunties had decided it was time for nine goslings to learn how to cross the street. There is a small grassy area and shrubbery on the other side, too, and at any time of day, commute traffic or no, any number of the flock may meander across.
Some of the relatives are on their way back to the park.
Discipline is starting to break down.
It appears that the children are getting an earful of scolding.
“Look, Mom, in this gutter! There is something wonderful! Why don’t we hang out here for a while?” Evidently that is just what they did, because when I drove back by an hour later, they were in this exact position!
When I was taking pictures of the latest pair of potholders–these only took about five years to complete–Gus came to investigate, and struck a playful pose, so I decorated him with the artwork. I admit that I got the idea from the kitty over at Bread on the Water who was getting in on that art display.
Many years ago I was really in the potholder business. They were a perfect craft to work on while I sat at folk dance classes, drama lessons, Spanish classes…all those activities where I didn’t want to read a book when other mothers were chatting. Everyone needs potholders, so they made handy gifts, and I had plenty of leftover fabric from a lifetime of sewing.
DEER
Shy in their herding dwell the fallow deer.
They are spirits of wild sense. Nobody near
Comes upon their pastures. There a life they live,
Of sufficient beauty, phantom, fugitive,
Treading as in jungles free leopards do,
Printless as eyelight, instant as dew.
The great kine are patient, and homecoming sheep
Know our bidding. The fallow deer keep
Delicate and far their counsel wild,
Never to be folded reconciled
To the spoiling hand as the poor flocks are;
Lightfoot, and swift and unfamiliar,
These you may not hinder, unconfined
Beautiful flocks of the mind.
-John Drinkwater
I would have to say that deer are my favorite animal. To watch one bound away after it is startled in the forest is a captivating sight, none the less because it is normally quite a brief sight, of great strength and speed combined with grace. Last month we visited a farm where white-tailed deer are kept as livestock, and viewed the corrals where the lovely animals are kept but evidently not tamed (“never to be folded reconciled”). The deer in the pen closest to us seemed to be frightened at our presence. The farmer was not there at the time and I don’t know if his presence is any less disturbing. I couldn’t take my eyes off the deer zigzagging nonstop in its cage; to watch that beauty without it disappearing into the trees was very odd. We weren’t there long enough for me to get used to the vision that is usually so rare. Nor did I begin to feel reconciled myself to coming near upon their pastures.
The photo of deer above was taken while walking down the street in an Oregon neighborhood. Perhaps those deer are calm because they are still “keeping their counsel wild.” No one is threatening them. If I’d had my camera that day at the corral, I might have taken a sad video of a wild animal from whom I was at that moment stealing something. In that moment I wasn’t thinking about these things; I didn’t think there was anything wrong with breeding wild deer. But since I came home and read Drinkwater’s poem again–I have treasured it and worked at memorizing it for decades–I am reconsidering.
Gladsome Lights 