The Deer Hour

Slowing the car so gravel won’t scatter, I see a buck in the middle of the driveway, his antlers outlined against the woods. Instead of running, he stares at me, as if I’ve interrupted his evening. I stop, and he takes careful steps, not hurried at all, long legs deliberate across the gravel and eye toward the woods.

In this place between urban and rural, the deer, like raccoons and other animals well adapted to humans, thrive. There’s no hunting here, another reason for the deer to linger. Dusk, a good time for them to eat, represents a shadowy, in-between time – not quite day, not yet night.

Humans turn to in-between times for different reasons, many choosing to feed their creativity, particularly writing, in the early hours before the new day or late in a dark velvet night.

The light retreats faster every day now, lending any concrete, daytime task greater urgency. Even a late afternoon hike in the woods catches me off guard one day, with the sun full across the path on my way up the mountain and the forest turning gray on the way down, racing night.

The next day, I walk around the neighborhood to yet another dusk, the moon glowing after a shadowed start. Toward the end of my walk, I spot two does grazing. They’re in someone else’s yard this time, under cover of apple trees.

They don’t move, leaving the next move up to me. I’m the one who drifts across the street instead, leaving the deer to their mysterious in-between, their hour on the mountain.