The Deer Bar

We use an evaporative (swamp) cooler to stay alive during the hot months, like most people here.  It rests on some sawhorses outside one of the yurt’s windows, and when the water going through it reaches the overflow level there’s a lovely small pool of water in the rocks underneath it, with succulent little green things like dandelions and crane’s bill growing up luxuriantly.  This is the new watering hole for the deer family who’ve decided to stay right next to us.  There’s a mom (whose ribs show and there MAY even be a bit of gray around the ears..), a baby, and a year old male.  They come and leave hoof prints from where they’ve eaten and had water without ever making a sound.   I’ve been watching them lately and I really wonder, for example, what they call each other and how they talk.  The baby (just now losing spots) has reached the developmental stage where he feels like a Big Deer, and thus wanders off.  Probably contributing to his mom’s gray ears, since she has to constantly hunt and find out where he is.  One day he was standing in the upper horse pasture when his mom spotted him from lower down and all of a sudden that fawn looked like he’d been electrocuted, jumping literally three feet high in the air.  Quickly composing himself back into Big Deer, he continued to hum lalala and ignore his mother.  Not a smart move.  She clearly re-emitted the electrifying utterance, something along the lines of GETDOWNHERETHISMINUTEDOYOUHEREME?NOW.  And, of course, he did.  There’s comfort in a way in knowing that we really are pretty much all the same, us, deer, trees, everything.

I suppose it is that sense of connection in a way that lends magic to things- they unfold before you and it is dazzling every time that rose blooms or a child laughs  or you get a difficult state of mind resolved.  I was talking to one of my oldest and closest friends recently, who remarked that although life IS beautiful, he didn’t really see the magic. I responded that often it seemed the reverse for me.

For some reason I woke up today thinking about one of the many times the two of us hitchhiked up the California coast to the bay area, back in the dim, distant past of The Day When We Were In College.  We were hitching to San Francisco from Oakland at one point and got picked up by a man who said he was a Scientific Boxer.  It was a truly amazing experience, involving as it did a simultaneous boxing demo with steering wheel, and multiple vehicle crash in the middle of the bridge.  Having earlier in the same trip narrowly avoided imminent death on another corner, when the wreck happened we counted our blessings, got out of the car  and bid adieu to our boxing friend.  We walked into the City, which was a bit of a distance since we were in the middle span of the bridge.  It was a sparkling day with crisp air and the deep blue of the ocean out beyond only seemed to intensify the glittering movement of the waves far below us.   There was magic in all that beauty there, and in our safe passage, for sure, and while the clarity of the memory surprises me, I’m pretty sure it is just one more part of that big puzzle being worked on now in my head.  Still, I’m pretty sure of at least one thing, now that I can’t avoid admitting being Mostly Grown Up.  I definitely believe in magic, and all those pieces of it we see in the course of our lives are part of a huge tapestry, a palimpsest, a portrait.   That picture is what shines through for us over time, guiding us when we think we’re in the dark- but we never really are without some light to guide us.  And that right there is the real magic.


One response to this post.

  1. Posted by Wanda Brenni on October 24, 2012 at 3:03 pm

    Beautifully stated.


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