Two Deer at Pond's Edge

Two deer have come down to a quiet little New England pond, and both stop to look straight out of the picture. The nearer one stands tall, ears spread wide, its coat the warm tan of summer. Its companion peers from behind a low bush, just a face showing.

Above them a lone pine climbs through the woods, its pale trunk holding out branches of layered green the sun touches in olive and orange. Below, the water lies dark and still, a few lily pads floating by the bank and the trunk’s reflection drawn deep into it.

Whitetails hear and smell trouble long before they see it, and move most at dawn and dusk. When alarmed, they raise the bright white underside of the tail, the flag that names the species.

Neither has raised it yet. For now, the two are only listening.

One snapped twig, and they will be gone.