A few days ago, a heavy mist “shrouded” our part of the county. Shrouded? Clouded. Slipped in. Grew into. Aspirated itself. Well, all of the good verbs have been used. Let me say then that the fog gave a theatre-set appearance to our world. The way flyes and curtains and backdrops and foot lights never really convince an audience of depth of space, this fog managed to define tree line, foreground and background in clearly defined dimensions. That particular day I did not have my camera, so could not catch a photo of the eight deer feeding in the field behind our meadow…you’ll just have to trust that I saw them. In the mist, on the stage set, leafless ghosts of trees defining a foreground and background.
(I think the mist elicited a sense of security. So yes the mist covered our land like a security blanket, literally.)
When the deer became aware of our presence some collected, joined the others––not at a panicked pace––and then, in a very specific order, one after the other bounced single file to the distant woods, where they could find more security.
Yesterday, in the clear morning air and with camera in hand I came across the deer, only four this time, and they paused for my photo op. I made no secret of my presence and they seemed to find this more reassuring than when I disappeared momentarily behind a nearby tree to continue on my path. It was then that they took flight, and very quickly. Only the white underside of their tails flashing in high arcs in the distance, as I emerged from behind the tree.
On the foggy day, I had cursed myself for leaving the camera, but was later reminded as I recounted my story and my carelessness, that it would be the mind that would have to record this beautiful tableau this time.
Andrew Binks 