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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