Buck Moon

time, land fenced, deer driven out
save two, more wily, double back, hide
among dense brambles, where we cannot walk
banging pots, noise makers, shooting cap guns,
to chase them through the gap, now forever sealed.
If both or neither grow velvet I can relax,
give them names, let them live out their lives,
even though they browse on Solomon’s Seal,
nip the tops off Hazelnut and Mountain Ash.

I see their tracks, delicate double ellipses,
by the pond, on the hiking trails, at the spring.
Before the meadows bloom, when grass
is young and green, they wander by the house field,
ever alert, pause, heads high, ears perked.
The smallest movement, two hundred yards away,
click of farmers rifle, taking aim, sends them
ballerina leaping, to the cover of woods.

By Linda J. Himot
published in The Highlands Voice, August, 2012