Here in SnowWhiteLand, the deer feel very much at home. They nibble the grass, the bark, the seed that falls from the bird feeder. They sleep in the woods behind our house. In the summer, the babies play – and curl up in the shade – in our front yard. They’ve grown accustomed to our presence. When we pull up as they’re grazing, they run about six feet away, then stand and watch as we unload groceries or gather up our stacks of books and go into our wee, quirky house.
Over the past few months, one family has grown even more comfortable. They watch fixedly as the squirrels come to the back door to ask for treats, and lift their heads as the tiny tree kitties are rewarded. One of the emboldened yearlings has been inching ever closer. Yesterday she stood right outside my office window, looking in. We gazed at one another, wondering what the next step was going to be. Should I invite her in? Maybe she’d like to see my bookshelves. They are pretty cool. At the very least I could snap a photo to capture the moment, the look in her lovely brown eyes.
Alas, such moments – and deer – are fleeting. You might wish for a portrait of an inquisitive young doe but find yourself with a blurry shot of deer butt. Then again, even that’s pretty special.