I'm sitting at our Wisconsin table, Sunday morning, sun creeping across the horizon, racing to see who hits the top of the pine first. Coffee in hand, sketching out a floor plan (my real job__)
Windows, windows, everywhere, welcome distractions abound. A bluejay sitting on the sumac, fluffy chicadee on the rail: baby, it's cold outside... Then a movement catches my eye: dark trees, white snow, dark shape, then dark shapes, slowly moving through the openings. A deer, then two, maybe more, meandering slowly up the hill. Snuffling, digging, snatching an acorn here and there I should suspect.
I go back to my papers for a minute maybe more, then look again, where are they? Oh there. Could it be a buck? Have they lost their antlers yet? I get up to find my binoculars. Now the deer have disappeared, or so it would seem.
Back to the papers, sideways glances, here and there. Soon they reappear, same story. Nice size, no horns, that short period of the year when bucks are anonymous, dare I say, degendered. Just one of the herd.
I slide from the bench at the table to the bench at the window, transfixed again. If I've seen one deer, I've seen thousands,, but each time it seems like a new experience, each time it's special.
They finally drift off, they to their nap, me, back to my work. But no, my time has elapsed, company's coming, a champayne breakfast...another welcome distraction on a Sunday morning in the Wisconsin woods.