Yesterday, coming home from a third trip to the lumberyard for supplies, I whipped the pick-up around the corner and stopped short, halfway around. A tiny, spotted fawn had bounced into my path, followed quickly by a slender doe. Maybe they had been munching on freshly baled hay, stacked at the Claybaugh Place where Steve had several round bales stacked. I must have startled them, and the mother stood still for a moment and looked right at me. Baby, however, bounced past, across 130 Rd. and into the roadside brush. Luckily, no traffic was coming, no small miracle, as harvest is just winding down. I turned off the engine and spoke softly to the doe, "It's okay. Go get your baby." She seemed to understand, and darted across the road to lead her baby back to the safety of the sunny wheat straw field on the other corner, and then they zig-zagged across the distance and disappeared into the plum thickets at the half-mile line north.
This morning, on NPR, Garrison Keillor recited a Mary Oliver poem that perfectly described the euphoria of such a moment. I found the poem on the web, along with a photo. What timing!
The Place I Want to Get Back To
is where
in the pinewoods
in the moments between
the darkness
and first light
two deer
came walking down the hill
and when they saw me
they said to each other, okay,
this one is okay,
let's see who she is
and why she is sitting
on the ground, like that,
so quiet, as if
asleep, or in a dream,
but, anyway, harmless;
and so they come
on their slender legs
and gazed upon me
not unlike the way
I go out to the dunes and look
and look and look
into the faces of the flowers;
and then one of them leaned forward
and nuzzled my hand, and what can my life
bring me that could exceed
that brief moment?
For twenty years
I have gone every day to the same woods,
not waiting, exactly, just lingering.
Such gifts, bestowed,
can't be repeated.
If you want to talk about this
come to visit. I live in the house
near the corner, which I have named
Gratitude.
~ Mary Oliver ~
[Web version: www.panhala.net/Archive/The_Place_I_Want.html
Web archive of Panhala postings: www.panhala.net/Archive/Index.html]
This morning, on NPR, Garrison Keillor recited a Mary Oliver poem that perfectly described the euphoria of such a moment. I found the poem on the web, along with a photo. What timing!
The Place I Want to Get Back To
is where
in the pinewoods
in the moments between
the darkness
and first light
two deer
came walking down the hill
and when they saw me
they said to each other, okay,
this one is okay,
let's see who she is
and why she is sitting
on the ground, like that,
so quiet, as if
asleep, or in a dream,
but, anyway, harmless;
and so they come
on their slender legs
and gazed upon me
not unlike the way
I go out to the dunes and look
and look and look
into the faces of the flowers;
and then one of them leaned forward
and nuzzled my hand, and what can my life
bring me that could exceed
that brief moment?
For twenty years
I have gone every day to the same woods,
not waiting, exactly, just lingering.
Such gifts, bestowed,
can't be repeated.
If you want to talk about this
come to visit. I live in the house
near the corner, which I have named
Gratitude.
~ Mary Oliver ~
[Web version: www.panhala.net/Archive/The_Place_I_Want.html
Web archive of Panhala postings: www.panhala.net/Archive/Index.html]
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