Midday, midweek, cool, rainy, kind of gloomy. I was at a meeting in Minneapolis all morning and had another appointment this afternoon. I wasn't sure when or how I'd get a chance to write something for My Minnesota. I needed something to cheer me up. I gotitthem. As I looked out the picture window, I saw a young fork horn buck, still in velvet, poking along the edge of the woods. I got my camera, took some pictures and felt considerably cheerier than I had fifteen minutes before. Then I looked again, wondering how he had moved to the front of the apple trees without my noticing. Then I saw that this wasn't the first buck, this was another one with slightly smaller antlers, also in velvet. That's more bucks at one time than I've seen in my entire life before this. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.
fork horn #1 in velvet
Photo by J. Harrington
fork horn #2 in velvet
Photo by J. Harrington
Waumandee
A man with binocularsfixed a shape in the fieldand we stopped and saw
the albino buck browsingin the oats—white dashon a page of green,
flick of a bladecutting paint to canvas.It dipped its head
and green effaced the white,bled onto the absence thatthe buck was—animal erasure.
Head up again, its sugar legspricked the turf, pinkantler prongs brushed at flies.
Here in a field was the imagined worldmade visible—a mythical beastfilling its rumen with clover
until all at once it startled,flagged its bright tail—auf Wiedersehen, surrender—
and leapt away—a white toothin the closing mouth of the woods.
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