in the active quiet that currently fills my mind and my days, messages are being delivered. i notice them, make note of them and calmly move along. absent is the inner fanfare and hype that used to accompany the repetitious, there-is-no-such-thing-as-coincidence blips on my radar screen. there is only a nod and a thank you and a "yes, i see it. again.". then, contemplation.
the messages of late, strung out for weeks and accelerating today, are being delivered by the deer family in general, and bucks in particular. it's mating season, it's hunting season, and my luck with bucks would be the envy of most men in camouflage. antlers are prolific for me. standing at the roadside, sauntering across traffic and barreling left to right like a freight train. in unprecedented numbers, the boys with nubs to 10 point head gear are silently speaking up.
the youngest buck, who succumbed to traffic and died on the grass, told me to leave the impulses and frantic energy of youth behind me, to gracefully let the tide of spring be washed away.
the oldest buck, the locomotive force of majestic maturity, showed me the power of channeled determination. years of learning and experience, coupled with obedience to instinct, can transform the seemingly untransformable, and command the will of the wind. so-called late bloomers, take note, he said.
the 6 pointers and the 8, steady and careful while crossing black-topped terrain, reminded me to let myself be lured to new adventures. to trust my expanding perceptions. to remember that gentleness affords a grander, more accurate view of the way things really are.
{ the littlest buck, who could no longer stand by the time i first saw him on the grass, let me pet his ear after he died and i tell you, it was the softest, most glorious thing.}
