In 1990, at the age of 19, I took a trip to see Janna's mom, Jackie Kerska, and Tom Bettis in Oregon. They had a cabin on the Rogue River--wilderness where deer like this one would come up and eat out of my hand. I always remembered that encounter fondly -- being quiet enough for a Wild One to approach me like this. Gentle Beauty!
The deer there are much smaller than we have in WI. I think these are black-tailed deer, as opposed to our white-tails. I know, so many people are at war with the deer eating their gardens--this is wilderness. Even Jackie has stated that she would not encourage such behavior from either of us (woman nor beast) in town.
This is a photo I thought was long-gone, given away a long time ago ...
I am happy to have it back in digital form. ;-)
What better way to celebrate it's return than with a poem?
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 came
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 to me that could exceed
that brief moment?
- American poet Mary Oliver (from "The Place I Want to Get Back To")
