Monday Morning

In the silence of early morning,
I stand outside
ready to go to work.
Across the road a buck appears,
antlers upraised.
He looks at me—
and time shifts.
The only movement he makes
is to turn his head slowly,
then back to face me again.
He does not tell me
everything is all right.
He stands, like a prince,
showing he is at home,
even on a broken patch of cement
in this strange little world of ours.
He brings me in with his gaze
showing me what it is to be tender,
including me in his world for a moment,
as time winds out on a spool—we are kin.

 

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This picture was taken by my neighbor, Eileen English, the morning the deer appeared,