Well, don’t ask me. I don’t understand. For more than a week, iPhoto wouldn’t let me download any of my pix, and then suddenly today, it will. I’m sure there’s some setting or switch, or it’s the barometric pressure or karma, so I’m not going to try to puzzle it out. I’ll just go for it.
What you can barely see here is a deer hiding in the leafy shadow of that small willow directly across the lake from the cabin. We almost never see deer during the day at Roundrock. Yes, we might startle some grazing in the farm field to our north as we drive along our road — and then make for the safety of the forest, running directly in front of us to get there — but it’s a rare thing to see a deer otherwise, at least during the daylight hours.
But maybe not when you have unreasonable drought and unseasonable heat. When we were last down to Roundrock, sitting in the comfy chairs on the shady porch overlooking the diminishing lake, we saw this deer come down to the water. It didn’t bend for a drink but just stood at the shore. We were across the lake and up the hill, yet when Libby rose to get a better angle to see it, it saw her too. That’s when the deer moved into the shade of that willow, and it stayed there for twenty minutes or so.
One time when I took myself down to the water to swim, as I emerged from the alley of trees before the cabin and stepped into the warm, warm water, a half dozen deer bolted from resting places to the west, again under the willows at the water line.
Is there something about just being near the water that a deer finds relaxing in the intense heat? Or was this pair of observations just a coincidence? Or could it be that this kind of thing happens all the time and I’ve just been too dim witted to observe it?
The last time I was out — a solo trip to contemplate the universe — I must have seen twenty deer, which may be a single-day record. I suppose it’s possible that the mild winter lead to an explosion of the deer population. Or the intense heat and drought may have something to do with it. Or maybe it’s barometric pressure or karma. Whatever the case, I don’t mind. They’re not vandals. They seem to be leaving my pines and pecans alone. Maybe they’re getting a little more accustomed to a benign human in the area.
Whatever the reason, I’ll enjoy it.