June 17, 2009
Re-paired
![[IMAGE] dear deer](/blog/blogpix/mamafawn4.jpg)
…about the musicRe-paired.
If you happened to read the comment section to my penultimate post, you know that I quietly eulogized the newborn fawn that I saw once last week, but not again the next day when his mother strolled by. Well, happiness today: as I was on the phone in the kitchen, I looked out the window and there he was, standing in the woods in front of me next to his mom, suckling, exploring, with all his white spots looking a little more spread out across his growing body. I won’t give names to these creatures because I know their lives are routinely shortened. Yet it’s impossible not to take some proprietary interest in these cuties.
A very young fox poked her head into my studio door yesterday, too, and then fox trotted off to the front of the house before I could snap a pic. My wildlife photog documentation is sorely underwhelming (the little fawn here is, literally, trunk-ated) and I flog you, dear kelphistos, with amateur shots barely worthy of a sixth grader’s homework report. But what I lack in ability with my camera, I still see in my mind’s eye, observing and pondering these encounters long afterward. Jane Goodall was one of my heroes when I was in sixth grade, after all.
Joy said,
June 17, 2009 @ 9:15 pm
We had a red fox that hung around our property last year and took a liking to my husband. She’d hang around while he was working in the garden and generally stay around most of the day. One time she walked into the garage and grabbed a screwdriver out of his hand and took off! Adorable creatures.
Glenn Buttkus said,
June 18, 2009 @ 5:30 am
So many critters round your domicle; kind of like a fairy tale, a lovely story about this fetching composer and her spouse and felines, who live on a forested rock, bridgeless, cut off from hub bub, serenaded by orcas and sea lions and sea birds,
letting the oders of moss, ferns, and kelp be her perfumes, when not sniffing lavender, visited constantly like Snow White by Bambi’s cousins, punctuated by the high-pitched bark of foxes early of a morning on a hare hunt. Do foxes bark?
Where mushrooms are given names and have poetry written about them, where purple honey laces toast, where there are not clicking clocks, where time lies gently in the background, where music is found everywhere, in the surf, in the air, in the wind bending fir boughs, in the bells hanging on posts, from hummingbird wings, for the buzz of fat bees, the chirp of racoons, the squeak of field mice–music pelts the cabin and finds its way in, aroused by the music flowing out from within, from your studio, your piano, your guitar. You paint such vivid pictures for us, it can never be boring to have our weekly visits with you at home, down home. Thanks for including us.
Glenn
Mike Wills said,
July 1, 2009 @ 8:39 am
I was driving with my Mom on Monday, her 86th birthday, and a Mother and Fawn passed in front of our car. So it is a recurring theme this season.