I put some corn out one day to feed the birds. After settling into my new home in a neighborhood wrapped in solitude, I found my love for the woods in my backyard. So, I busied myself with clearing some of the brambles that were choking a few trees. When I cleared them, I had an empty space cut into the wood with one solitary tree in the middle.
It was beautiful so I put a small bird bath out there. Then I spread some corn. When I woke up the next morning, I could hear the harmonious chitter of the avians in my backyard. When I opened my window, I saw them. Cardinals, blue jays, sparrows; they were all pecking blissfuly at the corn.
I watched them with contentment from my upstairs window. They did not know I was watching them, admiring the way their wings cut gracefully through the air as they flew down from their perches on nearby trees. With a nod to myself, I got ready for work and went on my day.
When I returned, all of the corn had been eaten. Satisfied, I scattered more kernels for them and went back inside. Saturday was the day I woke up and saw him.
When I opened my window the next morning, the birds were there as usual. It had been a couple days so a few squirrels had wandered out for the peaceful meal. A shaking in the bushes had my eyes wandering over to the edge of the small little area.
My eyes widened slightly as a young buck stepped cautiously out in the open. His ears were perked, swiveling to the front as his large, brown eyes watched the other animals. He snorted and I watched in silence as he hesitantly approached the corn on the ground.
Before he lowered his neck to the ground, his long snout lifted upward and his brown gaze found mine. I froze, as did he. When I did not move, he flicked his ears once, shifted the weight onto his right hoof, and dipped his slender neck down. I watched in awe as the creature took its fill before bounding off into the forest.
He returned day after day for the next few weeks after that first encounter and I always watched from my upstairs window. One morning, when he was confidently trotting out into the open to eat some corn, I slid my back door open and walked out. His nostrils flared and his ears snapped forward as he looked up.
We watched each other, man and beast, not daring to move. He gave me an uneasy look and backed up a few steps. Still, I watched without even a twitch of my fingers. He contemplated for a moment, sizing me up, before deciding I was not a threat.
He went back to eating. I let out a breath I was not sure I had been holding and hesitantly sat down. He ate the corn, but his brown eyes were focused on me the whole time. And so it went like that for the next few weeks, every day he felt more accustomed to my presence on the back porch. His confident steps returned.
After scattering more corn out in the back, I waited for him on the grass. I could see his light brown fur in the midst of healthy trees, his neck moving this way and that as he tried to get a good look at me. I sat down on the edge of the grass, five feet away from where the corn sat, and waited. I saw his form move away from the wood and trek up the hill.
Disappointed, I went inside. But, I never gave up. For the next three days, I sat out on the edge of the grass and waited for him. He was always there in my view, nearly hidden by the mass of trees that kept him secluded from me. On the fourth day, he came out.
One hoof appeared in the open and his head followed after. His ears were rounded toward me, brown eyes careful and warm as he regarded me. I watched him tilt his head down and nibble gracefully on the corn. I wanted so badly to be a part of him. In his silence-filled world where he went about his day peacefully.
I thought about what set us apart and realized it was not me he was afraid of. It was the past. Where my house stands now was where his forest would have stretched. Everywhere, humans were tearing down the woods, destroying these creature's homes. For a moment, I felt hatred toward my brethren, loathing what we had done to these animals.
When I snapped out of my thoughts, I found his brown eyes on me. He dipped his head once, blinking as he did so, before trotting away. I forgive you, he seemed to say. I went to bed at peace that night.
The next morning, he was there as usual. From yesterday, I wanted to try something, to show him I was not like the other humans. He was out there before me, brown eyes not even flickering upward because he recognized my scent. I sat out on the grass and he only backed up a few steps out of instinct.
He paused in his feeding and eyed my hand. My cheeks turned slightly red as he curled my fingers in closer to my palm. A few kernels of corn fell from my grasp and he cocked his head slightly. As slowly as I could, I stood on my feet. He froze, brown eyes growing wide as he took in my movements.
I held my hand out to him, palm clear up and kernels shining gold in the early morning sunlight. His brown eyes slipped to my hand and he snorted, unimpressed. His head dipped down again and he went back to eating, totally ignoring me.
I dared myself to go closer and he did not move. When I held my hand out right near his snout, he merely picked his head up, looked me in the eyes, and went on his way. I pondered his actions. We live apart from humans and watch as they tear apart our homes. We can never truly be together, but we live in peace, doing what we can to live out our lives in the diminishing forests. I imagined that was what he was trying to tell me.
I knew he would not let me touch him, to feel that copper-brown fur that shone so beautifully in the sunlight. I wanted to. I really wanted to pet him and let him know I would not hurt him. I continued to watch after that, keeping five feet away like I had before. He seemed to be amused by this, tail flicking when he turned his back on me.
After another few weeks of this, I began to notice the small things about him. His right antler seemed to be a bit more slanted upward than his left. He had a small white dot on his right foreleg and his tail was a darker copper than the rest of his light brown body. He was beautiful.
I approached him again the next day and he watched me again. My fingers were a breath from his snout before he seemed to shake his head and dart off into the forest. He would return like always. Again, the next day, I tried to approach him and again, he ran away.
Finally. Another couple of days after that, I sat right next to him, admiring his toned muscles that ripped underneath his fur. He stopped eating for a moment before turning his head to me. I held my hands out, but I did not reach for him. He watched my hand for a moment, his slender face just an inch from my outstretched fingers.
Gently, he dipped his head down and brushed his snout against my fingers. It was a featherlight touch, the mere breath of a kiss from him. I lowered my hand in awe and his brown eyes filled my gaze for a moment. You are different, he seemed to say. With that, he left, unscathed by the going-ons of today.
I, on the other hand, was marred so beautifully that I felt like crying. One tear slipped from my eye and I stood silently before making my way back to my house. That featherlight kiss he had touched me with still made my fingers tingle, tiny prinpricks of a deer's love that few witnessed or felt. My whole perspective on the world was changed by the kiss of a deer.
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