A Hard Winter for Deer
March 9 2008


This has been a hard winter for deer.
So now, on a rare warm day
I notice them again
emerging from the forest
— ambling across the road,
lurking on gravel shoulders,
and lunging, startled, on sudden curves.

In the deep freeze, which seemed endless
I often wondered where they went.
Did they burrow into snow
sleeping fitfully?
Did they paw through deep styrofoam drifts
for buried shoots, frozen berries?
Did they stand stoically, shoulder to shoulder
heads bowed,
facing away from the fierce north wind?
And when they perished from cold,
all skin and bone
and ratty patches of fur,
were they at peace
— an animal trapped in eternal winter
with no memory of spring?

Despite black ice and fallen trees
I’ve slipped into complacency
with no deer all season.
Now, the survivors are thin and weak
their big brown eyes gazing blankly at me;
forced into motion by hunger,
tempted out
by the strong March sun.

A cold front tomorrow,
and the deer, again, will be gone.
Some to shelter,
some pushed over the edge.
While glossy ravens
and wild dogs
grow fat on spring's excess.