“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.” ~ John Muir
Last summer, this deer plopped down for a rest in our yard for more than an hour.
When I let Roxy out this morning, I noticed our cat Doolin was already out and perched attentively at the top of the steps leading to the second level of our terraced, wooded yard. Actually, attentive isn’t quite right. Transfixed is more like it. And not in that spring-loaded, butt-waggling, ready-to-pounce way. This was a wary crouch, almost like she was watching and hiding all at once. I stood in my jammies on the patio below and silently listened.
Some crunching of leaves. The occasional twig snap. Nothing momentous sounding. And then, I saw it. From out of the trees, a deer appeared, walking cautiously, lifting each hoof individually. Doolin froze. Roxy had her back turned and never saw a thing. I must have moved my head, because the creature halted its progress and stared at me. For a moment or two, we sized each other up. Then a neighbor dog barked, and Bambi bolted.
But those few moments of pure peace might just carry through my entire day.
Another morning, in winter, Roxy and I encountered a whole family of deer in the park down the street. When they heard us approach, they sprinted across the snow in unison. In a blog post at the time, I described their retreat as a “magical mixture of haste and grace.” It was breatktaking and filled me up.
If I could somehow arrange to have one of these deer encounters each morning, I suspect the doctors would never again fret about my blood pressure.
