Mama Deer

 By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. The world was ablaze with brilliant oranges, reds, and yellows. The hushed whisper of dried paper fell upon my ears while the crisp, blue skies sang the beginning of autumn.

I wrapped myself in a thick coat, tucked the freshly knitted new scarf under the collar, and jammed my gloved hands deep in my pockets. Another gentle breeze swept by, turning my cheeks rosy and rustling those leaves again.

How I miss the summer, with its long warm days and deep dark nights. There is a magic to the summer sun, like a fountain of youth sprung over the entire world.

I walk down the path of the old forest, passing munching deer and skittering squirrels. Little chipmunks dash behind rocks, their tails giving away the not-so-carefully chosen hiding place. Crows and ravens caw at each other while they fight over whatever the other has found to eat. I don’t mind these creatures, it is their world that I am trespassing through. I am grateful they allow me the path and time to enjoy what they call home.

Soon, I am upon a wooden bridge crossing a babbling creek. I can see to the bottom where the tiny schools of fish dart about in a seemingly aimless fashion. What am I to know of their ways? I stand there, leaning on the rough, splintered rail, staring at the fish for a moment. If they are aimless, what does that say about the person taking time to watch them be aimless?

Stepping off the small, slightly tilted bridge, I find myself in the deep woods. The morning sunlight cuts hard beams through the leafy branches of tall trees. What was once a wash of greens is now a kingdom of colors to soothe the eye. Glorious golden hues scatter around in dappled light that dances across every rock and stone. Carpets of soft needles almost hide the path before me. I don’t see it as nature keeping its secrets, but a well-laid carpet for a welcome guest

Large leaves fall down, landing on my head and shoulder. I pull a hand free of the pocket to examine the leaf. Its intricate design, only matched by the natural artwork displayed across its surface. A deep red center that gradually becomes brown, jagged edges. The feel of it is that of a thin piece of weak leather. For a moment, my mind considers how to sew them together and make a work of art and a coat at the same time. However, reality tells me that the life of this leaf is fleeting, and what strength it has now will be forgotten when it is crunched beneath the foot of some random, passing creature. I toss it aside to the many other siblings that fell from the same tree in last night’s wind.

I trek through these deep woods, forgetting the civilized world behind me. Even more creatures work in diligence to gather and prepare for the harder times to come. They scurry away at the sight of me, not knowing that I would lift them up to their chosen hole and help pack their food stores. But, nature knows what it is doing, I shall let them continue in the ways they have practiced for eons.

The path turns considerably more rocky and the way, hilly. The trees grow taller here, having come from the mother tree of the same height years ago. The canopy above provides even greater shade. The chill now hangs hard in the air and my arms tuck tighter about me. I press onward, up and down, around a bend here, over a mess of roots there. The sound of the flowing river nearby a pleasant chorus to the whispering leaves rustling in the trees.

After going so deep that the trail is nothing but a memorized path among the trees, I find the old man. This is what I have come to call this ancient, fallen member of this forest community. The thick, gnarly branched tree lost its last leaf years ago. The rot taking deep into its trunk. Finally, in a good windstorm this past spring, the tree split at the base and fell, taking a few of its younger relatives with it. I was not present for this, but the residual destruction shows me how spectacular the tumble must have been. Truly a worthy end for such an aged relic of this little forest.

I find a place along the fallen trunk and scoot myself up onto the giant. Here, with the canopy all but removed, the sunlight is strongest. I bask in the warmth of the rays of daylight and enjoy the blue of the sky. However, it is not the glory of the trees, sun, or sky that I am here. Soon I hear her. Three steps followed by a quick stamp. Three steps, a quick stamp.

“Hello. Mama Deer,” I beckon to my friend.

A large, aged female deer approaches. She moves three of her delicate feet and then the fourth foot limps along. On her right hind quarter is a scar. I know it well. She approaches cautiously until I pull out a handful of nuts and present them as a gift to an old friend. To this she grants me her presence without fear. Her lips tickle my gloved hand as she munches on the nuts with calmness. I dare to reach up and brush my other gloved hand over her head.

It was the day I first found this fallen tree. I had walked these woods for many years, knew them well. I loved this old tree, its twisted branches made me smile often. Then I saw the old man down. However, it was not the tree that caught my eye. It was a crudely painted target on the trunk. This is a protected forest, and yet someone had thought it wise to use this place to practice shooting. Then I heard her, a loud sound that was unsettling. I followed near the tree to find this deer, attempting to give birth while an arrow protruded from her hindquarter.

These animals have lived their lives in this protected place. They did not know the hunter’s arrow or gun. They may still have instinctual fear, they don’t know the pain of the humans play-time. Why would a cruel heart choose an expectant mother to shoot? She was so scared of me, but I had to do something. I removed the arrow, with no small amount of yelling from her. I rubbed the wound clean with wet cloth torn from my shirt. And then I packed it as best I could with mud, hoping it would heal. During this process, she took care of delivering two little babies.

From that day on, she knew me. The babies were always fearful of me, and I do not blame them for their hesitations. I want them to have caution. Not all humans show kindness to the lesser creatures of this world. However, I kept calling the mother Mama Deer during that terrible time. She learned the name.

When I come to this spot, in these trees, I would see her, and know her by the limp and the look of thanks still in those eyes. She stays here, and that is good, many who come won’t hurt her. Heaven help the one who does. Nature flees the arrogance of human cruelty, but I shall not be so kind to any who would harm such a gentle creature as Mama Deer.

A gentle breeze rattled the leaves loose above us, and a shower of the most brilliant color fell down around us, carpeting this world with the memories of a long and eventful season. Mama Deer takes her leave of me and I bid farewell to the forest, at least for this day.