Safe

I sit in front of my large picture window in the apartment in the woods, watching the rain of yellow and brown leaves that falls after the actual wet rain has passed.

I'm dissertating away with Mozart's horn concerto playing in the background and the tickle-dit-tick of my keys as its only accompaniment (except for Geni's interminable panting and Rusty's occasional snores).

Suddenly, I half notice an unusual lump of grayish color amidst the woody greenery and the darkening shadows of the forest on this rainy, fall day.

Closer attention reveals that a young buck, with tiny flesh-colored antlers sprouting from his forehead, is comfortably seated on the wet leaf-covered ground, under the shelter of trees, munching away and looking quite happy with his safe haven.

What a treat, I realize, to be able to observe him from such close proximity as he is seemingly unperturbed by or unaware of my presence, although the lights in my apartment must blaze against the near-twilight of the forest. But there he sits, becoming less and less visible as the shadows darken with the growing cloudiness of the day.

Last evening, as I got ready to close the curtains of my picture window, I caught a small fawn looking up, seemingly directly at me as it moved through the greenery outside. We looked at each other for a few minutes. It, interested and curious but ready to bolt, and I, spellbound and thankful for those precious moments of connection with the wilderness.

All is as it should be. I am here, working away at my dissertation and munching away, so to speak, at my ideas. There he is, pausing in his work of survival to take a break where he feels safe. The moment finds us both sharing the calm of having found shelter from the interminent and pelting rain.