I saw a mule deer today. She was in the middle of the road, looking at me with her beautiful dark eyes. Her big ears alert like radar antennas. I stopped the car and we stared at each other for a moment. She then turned, not with abrupt urgency, but with a cautious trot, up the road a bit, and with a hop disappeared into the brush.
It was wonderful to see her. Something special for me because I haven’t laid eyes on a mule deer since my days in South Dakota years ago. I was happy and excited. The sight of the deer took me out of my ordinary day, and for a moment I was nobody and I was nowhere. She reminded me of the beauty that I love, and I was briefly taken over by that beauty. “I love you.” I said to her. She didn’t hear me, but I hope she knows.
Update: Never mind, it was not a mule deer. Upon further investigation into the deer of the Olympic Peninsula, it must have been a black-tailed deer. I am disappointed, except that it is the first time I have ever seen a black-tailed deer.
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