Saw seven deer this evening
making my way down Stark Ridge
as the sun sank down behind the hills.
The deer didn’t flip their fluffy white tails
and float over the nearest fence.
It’s their favorite time of the day,
dawn and dusk, crepuscular creatures
with soft eyes and hide the color
of the golden hour.
The fresh young does leapt leisurely
and daintily off the center line
and stuck the landing in a grassy field
to stare me down as I drove by, slow,
window wide open to the night air
and stuck there.
None of us were in any hurry.