A few weeks ago deer gathered beneath the apple trees, meadowland and mountains a security of sorts, although coyote (and ever rumored mountain lion) must have been aware of their presence. Early one morning a late birthed fawn darted about, no adult in sight. I slowed the car, pondered what to do; startled it more, and my heart grieved. Sweetness lured them, juicy ripe, bordered on rotten; can't imagine amount of sugar consumed.
The wild orchard is vacant now, temptation played its part, trees less weighted, resplendent for a stint in temporary burnished glory. Now that's gone too; first frost has lashed her icy tongue and deer slip out of woodland earlier; perhaps for breeding, but consuming as much green as possible. I wrap my shawl closer, walk the dogs, their awareness of danger or hardship almost non-existent; wolf-like instincts dormant as they beg the cats to befriend them. Fireside has yet to be shared.
A fine line exists between wild and domestic. How long would it take for survival and instinct to kick in, or would my puppies be like the fawn, startled out of safety, nature taking its course? How would I fare if grocery store vanished, if I had to can apples and store food for winter?
a last desperate banquet
before winter's fast.
by Margaret Bednar, November 9, 2019
This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Just One Word - Burnished"