My wary friends the seven does
bound tails high across our path
across the fence lines and fields
crossing to the year-round creek,
the last doe spins back to the trees.
Returning, I pass below her on the hill.
She eyes me dubiously as I call
“Good morning, pretty lady!”
Over my shoulder I can see she’s gone
back to grazing - probably my words
are nothing more to her than noise,
less than a marmot’s call
less than a nuthatch’s beeping.
I see another gloriously written moment. I sometimes think we say more to animals with our eyes. Something is said-it is like crossing a great divide- even if it is for a millisecond.
ReplyDeleteI think you are right, Teri. I've read that you shouldn't meet the eye of major predators when you meet them, but is it really just that, or is the danger in what people's eyes say to the animal?
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