Sunday, August 22, 2010


in our neighbor's yard.
I stopped the car and Georgia cried, "I want to get out. I want to see them!"
I told her, "No sweetie. They won't like it; they'll run away."
She replied, "No they won't Mama. No they won't!"
So I got out of the and unbuckled her and carried her over to them, knowing they would run.

But they didn't.

The one in front twitched and rotated its enormous ears toward us and then took a step closer.

Georgia's body was stiff with excitement, but she was quiet.

We took another step closer and they waited.

Then another step.

So close.

We could see her beautiful curious eyes.

Then the one in back made a sound and trotted off.

Her sister turned and followed.

Georgia gave me a hug and we went back to the car.

It had only been a few moments, but it felt like we had been away for a long time.
It made me think of the Mary Oliver poem.

The Place I Want To Get Back To

by Mary Oliver

is where
in the pinewoods
in the moments between
the darkness

and first light
two deer
came walking down the hill
and when they saw me

they said to each other, okay,
this one is okay,
let's see who she is
and why she is sitting

on the ground like that,
so quiet, as if
asleep, or in a dream,
but, anyway, harmless;

and so they came
on their slender legs
and gazed upon me
not unlike the way

I go out to the dunes and look
and look and look
into the faces of the flowers;
and then one of them leaned forward

and nuzzled my hand, and what can my life
bring to me that could exceed
that brief moment?
For twenty years

I have gone every day to the same woods,
not waiting, exactly, just lingering.
Such gifts, bestowed,
can't be repeated.

If you want to talk about this
come to visit. I live in the house
near the corner, which I have named

"The Place I Want To Get Back To" by Mary Oliver, from Thirst. © Beacon Press, 2006.

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