It wasn’t the early morning, but rather almost mid-morning. The sun, already up for the most part, was not yet creating an oppressive heat. Instead, it was only lighting the tops of trees, the wide fields, and the parts of the paths that it could filter, could trickle down to kiss. Yes, since the night had become cool, windy, interesting with breezes bringing this leaf and that bit of grass up, - it had stayed like that. Bearable. You could even call it pleasant. We headed down a long path with many moss covered logs and rocks. There are many mosquitoes all around, but especially there. The boggy marshy area not only has water for eggs, but is at the bottom of a valley. It’s a perfect breeding ground for the un-earthy nuisances. I looked at the old car for a short while, and then moved on.
Stopping near the top, along a very narrow path that goes along the uppermost part of thevalley ridge, - I felt something or rather the absence of something. It had become too quiet. Not a cricket chirped, not a bit of wind announced itself- nothing. And then I felt it- the heat of the sun. No, I thought, - it’s too early, and I was disappointed. There is nothing like comfortable weather to lift the spirits, and nothing like the sun when it is too hot to dull them. But there was something else- I sensed an event about to occur, - kind of esoteric, magical- but I didn’t know if I was right and if so, just what it would be. Then, ahead, I saw coming across the path the second half of a large animal. It seemed brown-red, - and some big white tail was there. I thought, illogically I guess, that it was a coyote, and then the mind classified it as a large fox of some sort. It was a full second later that I felt foolish upon realizing that I had misjudged the sight of a deer.
It was so silent that if I had not seen it I would not have known it was there. The dogs did not see it, smell it, or even sense it. In this way a deer can be almost equated with magic. Think about it- magic is mercurial, something that slips through your perception, catches you unawares, by-passes your logical mind. I thought about it for a while. I was hoping to see it again- but it was gone the way the night was gone, - and what was passed could not be brought back. Here, - in words, sure- but it’s not nearly the same as seeing the event.
We went along. There were a lot of beautiful and bountiful red berries. The rain from thenight still stayed on the leaves and some of the berries themselves, and the sun shone down confidently on the whole picaresque landscape. There was up the way some little purple flowers- on the light side of purple I would say- a pair,- just watching out from some leaves like a couple eyes. A white wildflower stood also alone; - around the bend- saying that it had seen quite a storm the evening through. Wild raspberries,- wet sand, mud,- starting to dry- a thousand cracks like capillaries will appear and become more pronounced in the hours ahead. And the mosquitoes and flies and black flies- also small hornets or wasps I noticed landing on my hands while I try to take a couple pictures…
We walk easily upon the good earth there. The dogs run, then play, then rest. Nobody’s around. A bunch of hawks must have a nest nearby because they are disturbed in the not too distant tree line and start flying off in the other direction. Against the black of the darkness that distant trees make, - much like a pond in the air or something- I can see a few of them- and they seem small, if indeed that is what they are. I know one hawk comes across in my direction and goes overhead. There isn’t a point in taking a pic because it’s too far off to come out as anything other than a mark in the sky…
Its calmer then, - and we have done well. The water droplets are around- the flies, - some birds come past down the way. We look and wait, look and wait- maybe a fox will come across in the distant perimeter, or another or the same deer. Maybe maybe maybe, - an interesting low flying pontoon plane will show itself. Something. But there is nothing. There is everything, sure, and it’s beautiful, but there is nothing much but the same. We walk on past the solitary white flower, the storm survivor. He is still there. We say hello again, and goodbye. The play, photo, exercise, story and poem that is our small morning adventure is over for now.
So we are grateful and go.