Wild has come to town.



All my life the incidence of seeing a deer was a magical, mystical moment. It happened most frequently when we would visit the cabin my grandfather built in the Upper Peninsula. 

Long hikes in the woods would sometimes yield the sighting of these regal and careful creatures. Occasionally we would see them come to shore by the lagoon or across the creek to drink and once my dad and I even watched a mother and her two  fawns frolic and play in the light of dawn as we sip coffee at the Dining Room Table there.

That the deer have now moved into our neighborhoods and parks and back yards feels like a loss to me. The mystery and wonder of their appearance is starting to be swallowed up by the tedium of the banal, everyday, cookie-cutter, super-fabricated lifestyles we craft in post-industrial society.

It's started to the feel that way but there's still a magic for me. 


When I encounter them, their appearance is still a startling reminder of the wild. Their dignity and attentiveness to this new habitat still feels precarious and sacred and inflects my own vision and steps with a similar sensibility.

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