The Morning

The light electrifies the morning, all green and yellow and orange and brown. Heavy frost last night.  Late fall in Vermont. The birds are moving; the animals are restless. Changing patterns, changing seasons.

Last night, coming home from work, in the dark before the moon rise, I came around a corner, open fields on either side and there was a buck deer, 10-points, standing at the edge of the ditch on the left side of the road.

One hundred feet ahead on the left. Standing there. Deciding.  He. Did. Not. Move.

I slowed. And then I saw him move, turning his head towards me as I pulled up next to him, our eyes on each other, just for a moment; I zipped down my window. In a smooth, steady motion, he turned and was gone, disappearing into the black like a mystery.

I continued on.

A possum. A skunk. And when I got home, in a lower branch of one of the oaks, an owl.  I got out of the car, stood in the drive and adjusted my eyes as the moon rose and the world lightened up in a bluish white, I made out owl's form, and then he was as clear as glass.

I wake up to this morning to the white frosted colors sparkling, brisk. All reminders that we must slow down to see, that we must find time to stop and be gentle to ourselves.