![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
The deer return
Wow.
I just had an utterly transcendent moment.
Our office is in a wooded area, so it's not at all unusual to see all manner of wild animals around here. Usually they're common - raccoons, hawks, crows, squirrels, chipmunks, that sort of thing. Our parking lot is frequently soft and muddy, and I've often seen animal tracks there from the night before. But I've never, ever seen anything like I saw when I pulled into the parking lot this morning and turned the corner.
There, right in front of me, were twin fawns. They were young enough to still have their spots, which is something I've never seen before. I couldn't tell their sex for sure, but one did try to hop on the other, who had none of it and walked away just enough that the uppity one would lose balance and slide off. This only happened once, and it doesn't really tell me anything.
I was sure that they'd run off once I got out of my car, but even after I turned off the engine, opened the door, grabbed my purse and got out, they just stood there, looking at me. I got out and closed the door carefully so as not to startle them; again, they just watched me for a bit, eventually strolling casually over to some taller grass and having some breakfast. I walked over to them slowly, careful to stay quiet but not appear as if I was stalking them. It was the same story - they watched me approach, but didn't appear alarmed or even nervous.
I didn't try to get too near them, but they let me come pretty close regardless. The only thing that disturbed us was when a co-worker pulled into the parking lot - that didn't phase the fawns, either. I tried to get the co-worker's attention, but he didn't hear me at all. I had the eerie feeling that, for whatever reason, I was the only one meant to see these fawns and interact with them the way I did. Time seemed to stop while I observed these two, and between that and their apparent trust, it was one of those perfect, mystical moments - so much so, in fact, that I did something that's pretty out of character for me. With my right hand, I reached up and made the sign of the cross with my thumb over my heart. (I thought any larger gesture would scare them off, and I didn't want them to panic.) One was already in the tall grass, but the other looked up at me the moment I finished, despite the fact that I was silent the entire time. After looking at me for a few moments, it walked into the tall grass to join its twin, who had turned around to observe me from its hiding place.
Now, it could be that this is just all coincidence. Maybe the fawns are used to people, or maybe I just got really, really lucky. Still, to me it seems like a lot more than that. It's not something I'll forget any time soon, that's for sure.
I wonder if any saints or gods have a fawn (or two) as their symbol.
contemplativeI just had an utterly transcendent moment.
Our office is in a wooded area, so it's not at all unusual to see all manner of wild animals around here. Usually they're common - raccoons, hawks, crows, squirrels, chipmunks, that sort of thing. Our parking lot is frequently soft and muddy, and I've often seen animal tracks there from the night before. But I've never, ever seen anything like I saw when I pulled into the parking lot this morning and turned the corner.
There, right in front of me, were twin fawns. They were young enough to still have their spots, which is something I've never seen before. I couldn't tell their sex for sure, but one did try to hop on the other, who had none of it and walked away just enough that the uppity one would lose balance and slide off. This only happened once, and it doesn't really tell me anything.
I was sure that they'd run off once I got out of my car, but even after I turned off the engine, opened the door, grabbed my purse and got out, they just stood there, looking at me. I got out and closed the door carefully so as not to startle them; again, they just watched me for a bit, eventually strolling casually over to some taller grass and having some breakfast. I walked over to them slowly, careful to stay quiet but not appear as if I was stalking them. It was the same story - they watched me approach, but didn't appear alarmed or even nervous.
I didn't try to get too near them, but they let me come pretty close regardless. The only thing that disturbed us was when a co-worker pulled into the parking lot - that didn't phase the fawns, either. I tried to get the co-worker's attention, but he didn't hear me at all. I had the eerie feeling that, for whatever reason, I was the only one meant to see these fawns and interact with them the way I did. Time seemed to stop while I observed these two, and between that and their apparent trust, it was one of those perfect, mystical moments - so much so, in fact, that I did something that's pretty out of character for me. With my right hand, I reached up and made the sign of the cross with my thumb over my heart. (I thought any larger gesture would scare them off, and I didn't want them to panic.) One was already in the tall grass, but the other looked up at me the moment I finished, despite the fact that I was silent the entire time. After looking at me for a few moments, it walked into the tall grass to join its twin, who had turned around to observe me from its hiding place.
Now, it could be that this is just all coincidence. Maybe the fawns are used to people, or maybe I just got really, really lucky. Still, to me it seems like a lot more than that. It's not something I'll forget any time soon, that's for sure.
I wonder if any saints or gods have a fawn (or two) as their symbol.