It’s 7 AM and the temperature is cool for the last day of June. 50 degrees Fahrenheit, the thermometer says. My toes agree as they rest on the concrete floor of the back porch, rocking the swing back and forth. I’m reading the last essays in Wild Comfort by Kathleen Dean Moore. I pause and look up in time to see two young fawns, their spots prominently displayed, wobble out of the woods at the corner of the back lot. I wonder where their mom is at. They look around for a moment, and then retreat back under cover. Two squirrels are running around a pine tree, they could be playing a game of tag, but that’s not likely. In the distance, a mourning dove coos, sounding like a mournful owl. A dozen or more other birds are singing. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice the doe and the two fawns, moving out into the field behind the house, where hay has freshly been cut (by headlight at 11 PM last night, I’m sure there is a city ordinance against doing such work late at night). The deer family moves down into the draw, out of sight. I then see, in the maples along the fence line between the house and the field, a couple other squirrels are playing their game of tag. I return to my essay:
Gladness lifts the natural world out of the merely mundane and makes it wonderful, and reminds us that when we use the sacred stuff of our lives for human purposes, we must do so gratefully and responsibly, with full and caring hearts…” (151)
The shadows cast by the sun as it rises above the treetops are long. I close my book and head off for a breakfast meeting.