An Encounter

 

A rustle in the leaves — that doe again.

We look up at the same moment, attentive

and still. She stares. I stare. She’s not ten

 

steps away. I murmur, It’s okay, I

won’t harm you. She flickers her ears, and when

I whisper again, she comes closer. Why

 

does this keep happening? Maybe she knows

something, thinks I might know it, too. I try

to tell myself I understand. Her nose

 

twitches, testing my scent. I try to tell

myself the truth about these woods, unfrozen

in time, ever transformng. The elms

 

are gone, and the catamounts, but the pines

and the oaks and the deer are doing well

for now. I tell myself that she’s a sign —

 

of hope? of trust? or what? The woods are dense

with unending change, eternal fine-

tuning, rebirth — not things, only events.

 

 

© Michael Fleming

Brattleboro, Vermont

September 2022

 

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