Just me, some confused deer, and thoughts of hope
I just got back from my second walk of the day, in the pouring rain. A mile and a half up and down our muddy, one-lane rural road. As I stepped out of our gate, a deer standing in the middle of the driveway turned and stared at me. She stood there a long moment as I walked toward her, as if not able to truly believe that one of the humans had come out in the rain. Don’t the woods belong to the deer, when the weather is nasty?
Eventually she remembered herself, and turned and darted away.
I walked on.
I take this walk most days, at least once a day. It’s called “the mailbox walk” because it ends at the main road where the dozen-or-so mailboxes for the houses back here are lined up on a post, but last spring I added an up-and-back on a side road. I did this to make the walk longer, and because sometimes I encounter the neighborhood’s resident stray peacock up there, plus a family of deer that includes a fawn with an adorable lopsided ear.
I take the mailbox walk even on non-mail days. I love walking; I love exercise, movement. In the pre-pandemic times, there used to be a gym in town. I swam laps, and played racquetball with a friend, and just all kinds of things. You know. Like you could do, in the earlier times.
But now, there’s just walking, and yoga.
I feel very fortunate that I have space to walk in, and such nice space. I spent a lot of time outside last spring and summer and fall — working in the garden, sitting by the pond, eating meals on the deck, even (yes) walking up and down the road.
I was worried about what would happen when winter came, but when it did, I just…layered up and kept walking.
Often, my husband comes with me on my walks, though not always, and generally not when the weather is inclement. Like today. So both of my walks today were just me, alone, thinking my thoughts, breathing the air.
On my way home this afternoon, the rain was bucketing down, but then something just…shifted. The light; the light was amazing. There was a quiet glow to the clouds, even as the rain kept pouring down out of them; each tree, each branch looked picked out for my inspection, limned with a faint light.
It was breathtaking.
I walked on, and the moment passed. The road delved deeper into the trees. I passed a few neighbors’ houses, tucked away in the woods, their lights glowing. I know most of the neighbors on this road; it was fun to picture all the people in those houses, cozy and dry.
I passed more deer, watching me through the trees. “I see you in there,” I said to one. She too just stared back at me, correctly surmising that I wasn’t going to leave the road, wasn’t going to chase after her.
When the weather is nicer, I often pass neighbors on the road, but today there were only the glowing house lights, and the confused deer.
I got home and pulled off my red rubber boots, and raincoat, and gloves, and hat, and scarf, and extra sweater. Then I stood a while before my own cozy fire, drying the front of my jeans and the end of my braid, which had gotten wet despite all that gear, and despite my little polka-dotted umbrella.
As I stood there gently steaming, I thought about the light, and the winter, and the rain (and sometimes snow), and the world beyond all this.
It is a new year and I truly, madly, deeply hope this year will be better than the last one was. It almost has to be, right?
It is a new year, and I said almost the same thing at the beginning of last year: This year will be better than the last one was, right? It has to be.
Every new year, I have this hope. Even after good years, I hope for better years. I hope for greater peace, greater joy, for greater ease and happiness for myself and for everyone else.
I am ever hopeful.
It is a new year and I know they say hope springs eternal, but perhaps, also, it winters in the rainy woods of the Pacific Northwest.
That is lovely.
that was lovely. thank you so much. And I hope the new years shares some of that lovely light you glimpsed in passing.
We take walks at the nature preserve most days and encounter deer from time to time. It’s always an amazing moment, them and us sharing the woods, and both unafraid.