This year for my birthday, my husband
promised me a deer.
Before, only something sparkly
would have done, evidence of the
thought given toward my birthday treat.
Apparently I’m difficult to buy for, and,
he takes no chances, because
that time I said I wanted nothing,
I cried when he delivered just that.
This year, I said, I just want to go for a walk.
Let’s go at dawn, to our favourite place.
Then, he promised, we’ll see a deer.
He seemed confident. So was I. After all,
I’d asked for nothing more.
We emerged from the semi-darkness
of the woods and he slowed me down
with a pull of my arm; we are here.
The sun still rising, there was nothing or
no-one to scare our deer away.
I imagined I saw it’s majestic
shape; the outline of it’s proud antlers,
foreleg raised, ready to bolt at the first
sense of danger. Instead, the
mist rolled uninterrupted.
I placed every step, aware that
the crunch of one branch underfoot
could be our undoing. Holding my breath
the full length of the field,
I looked back every few steps, willing it
to appear; poised to shoot it,
with my mobile phone.
Back in the woods, no deer, my husband pulled
something from his pocket. The metal of
the flask sparkled in the new morning light.
I could think of no better gift, as we
sat on a bench drinking steaming tea in the
silence of the new day.
For six-months, I looked for that deer, our walks
distracted by every little sound.
Then, this week, I forgot. This week,
I crashed through the woods, animated
in conversation, happy in my life.
A deer. My husband stopped me in
my tracks. Stillness enveloped me, as
I inched closer. Only briefly, it looked my way,
then, sensing no danger, it returned to
it’s grassy snack before wandering out of sight.
I have shot it, my husband said, then realised
that all he’d captured was the muddy ground.
No matter, I said. I was content,
with the moment shared with my love.
Deer or no deer, isn’t that
what life is all about.
