deer – Page 8 – The Morning Porch

July 20, 2012

Dave Bonta July 20, 2012 2

A deer leaps and twists in the tall grass to elude a fly, his damp pelt pale as a salmon, hoarse breathing just audible above the rain.

Dave Bonta July 7, 2012 1

A fawn among the wild garlic: the white tops continue in the spots of its coat. Later, a hummingbird at the beebalm: matching red throats.

Dave Bonta June 28, 2012 5

The plaintive bleat of a left-behind fawn. A pearl crescent butterfly explores my palm with its proboscis, reading between the lines.

Dave Bonta June 25, 2012

Cool and clearing. Three deer chase through the meadow, coats sleek with dew, bounding high to glimpse each other through the tall weeds.

Dave Bonta June 15, 2012

Just like yesterday the clear light, the mid-morning doe with her fawn. But today there’s a second fawn, prancing, kicking up its heels.

Dave Bonta May 27, 2012

At first light, the sound of deer running through the woods: the crash of hooves, the swish of blossom-heavy branches of mountain laurel.

Dave Bonta May 7, 2012 1

Under a heavy gray sky, the trees are so green they almost seem to throb. Two does chase through the deep grass, as playful as fawns.

Dave Bonta March 31, 2012 3

Thin fog. A yearling fawn play-mounts his mother, and is mounted in turn by his twin. A robin tut-tut-tuts from the driveway.

Dave Bonta March 24, 2012 1

Rain. Two deer in a high-speed chase crash through the laurel, the one in pursuit grunting like a buck gone into rut eight months early.

Dave Bonta February 22, 2012 1

Dawn. Three deer become two, become three again. The sound of squirrel teeth on black walnut shell—that harsh madman’s whisper.

Dave Bonta February 16, 2012 2

Sleet rattles on the roof like a fast typist. Two deer in the springhouse meadow: when they stop moving, they vanish into the brown weeds.

Dave Bonta January 27, 2012 1

The white flame of a deer’s tail bobs among the laurel. Another doe shakes her head, flinging rain water in all directions.

Dave Bonta January 23, 2012 2

Deer have been eating the wild rosebush again, and the yard is a maze of rabbit tracks. The fog lifts for a minute, then returns.

Dave Bonta November 29, 2011 2

Dawn light turns everything briefly to gold: house, trees, the three deer that run a short way into the woods and stop, nostrils flaring.