It's beautiful to be surrounded by nature. It's good to live away from the noise and the bustle of cities, good to be nestled in the mountains taking breaks from my work to watch out the window. I'm always hoping to see the little red fox again, confident and cocky, but even when he's not around, the world is buzzing. Today it was a single deer running across the yard, interrupting the barking dogs and the behind-schedule work. I had to write a poem.
Poetry is that deer
running over the snow,
hooves hardly touching the fresh flakes.
His body is a perfect arch,
winter fur thick against the ice in the air,
neck leaning toward sky.
He doesn't see me watching him,
my eyes tired, red,
body heavy with responsibility.
My mind jumps with him, though,
passes this field of vision
and leans around pine trees,
chews on icicles,
lays down to sleep
beneath a thousand watching stars.
