PRESENCE ON THE MOUNTAIN
At the fork,
two miles up from the trailhead
where you can continue to
circumnavigate the mountain
or take the path to the summit,
I saw them and they made me
pause, as the antlered buck
crashed through the deadfall
caught in the lower story
saplings, front legs tucked,
keeping his head horizontal to
the ground, back legs thrusting
in order to clear the way
for the pregnant doe behind him,
who also displayed her own
strength just by keeping up
with the buck, the two of them
at one with each other and in
their beauty by being just who
they were, and they’re not even
noticing me standing to the side
of the screed washout dug deep
after the heavy autumn rains, but
they kept at it, crossing the low
ridge, until they were out
of sight, allowing me to witness
the revelation of their mystery.
