August and September are melancholic for me. I enjoy autumn, but I love summer. I mostly love the long summer days. On the longest days, 9 p.m. saw the final light fading, as my side of the Earth turned away from the sun, and the early summer light made me feel happier. But, the season is turning now, even though the humid August days belie what’s soon to come.
In July, I moved in with my boyfriend, and we’ve both been adjusting ever since, and trying to make it ‘our’ place, but I do not easily assimilate, which I suppose could be a strength in other circumstances. Regardless, we’re living in a beautiful rural area, and I’ve seen more wildlife – alive and in road-kill form – than I had in the last several years. Nearly every morning, and early evening, for instance, several deer graze on the far edge of the yard, near the tree line down in back of the house. My boyfriend and I noticed a doe with three fawns this spring, and we’ve watched them eating nearly every day. At first, the fawns mostly nursed while mama ate, but she was weaning them a few weeks ago. She’d let them suckle for less than a minute and then shake them off – sometimes engaging in a sort of hip-hop dance getting them away from her.
Several weeks ago, mama deer came out with only two fawns over several days, and I was so sad that one of them must have died. I imagined illegal hunters, and then maybe a coydog, or bob cat, or some other asshole animal, taking down the cute, innocent fawn. Then, The Lion King, came to my mind, The Circle of Life song looped in my head over the next few days, and I moved onto acceptance in my grief cycle, when lo and behold, mama doe came out one morning with three fawns in tow! My boyfriend and I wondered aloud what had happened. He thought maybe it had been two deer families making separate appearances, and while that’s plausible, there’s only the doe and her three fawns out there everyday. I thought the fawn must have been sick, and laid low for a while.
Which brings me to another thought: where the hell is their dad? It must be rough for a single-doe family, raising three rambunctious fawns, while papa buck is out there – doing Goddess/God knows what – probably munching on fermented berries and fruits with all the other bucks, not getting back to the thicket until well after dark…
Then again, maybe some asshole mammal took daddy-buck out in the bloom of fatherhood. The Circle of Life, indeed.
© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.