Synchronicity

Synchronicity

The almost full moon is peering through my window. The weather has turned warm again. Thank you! I need more time to get the storm windows up, the firewood cut. Prepare for what may be another winter of deep cold with heavy snow.

I’m surprised that the black bear hasn’t gone into hibernation yet. When I step out in the moonlight, I look around. The other day my young neighbor to the west pointed out a big pile of bear scat under her fruit tree. The scat was bright with apple peels and plum pits. I took a picture of it.

A couple of weeks ago, coming back from a long trip, I sighed with relief as I pulled into the driveway. But sat bolt upright at the sight of a huge black bear standing eight feet tall by the back door, looking straight at me. His head was about two feet across. All he needed was a ranger hat and he would have looked like Smokey.

“Oh my God!” I rolled down the window and raised my camera. But the bear turned and ambled back toward the orchard. I scrambled up the ladder to the roof and caught five seconds of him before he disappeared. Just to prove he was here.

My young neighbor to the west also mentioned that she had seen a large herd of deer right outside her window, “About twenty-five of them.” I borrowed a video camera. On Saturday evening I went looking for the deer. Couldn’t find them. But I ran into a couple that had been hiking in the hills behind my house. The woman smiled when she saw my big camera. “Are you looking for the deer? They’re up there,” she said with a jerk of her thumb. “A huge herd.”

Panting, I climbed “up there” but saw nothing. Disappointed, I asked permission to keep the camera one more day.

On Sunday I woke from my afternoon nap to a russet light that blazed across the field. I had forgotten about the time change! The deer were coming down as they do every evening to browse in the fields and drink from the river. I had planned to jump in my car, drive around and find them before dusk.

I rushed through my chores, fed the horses and climbed the hill in front of my house. In a few minutes the sunlight would be gone. I snatched my car keys and camera from the kitchen counter. But when I rounded the corner of the house I saw two does and a yearling grazing in the back yard. Their heads came up and they stared, but I froze on the path, opened my mouth and sang. They are curious creatures. They did a double take and went on grazing as if to say, “Oh, it’s that crazy woman who sang to us last year. She’s harmless. But keep an eye on her.”

I turned on the camera and followed their movements. The yearling stayed close to her mother. As I sang, more does appeared out of the tall grass or emerged from behind boulders and trees. They took hesitant steps on slender legs and filled my screen with graceful, juxtaposed forms. They nibbled on the quince bush and picked their way across the lawn in a stately minuet, pausing now and then to lift their heads and stare at me, radar ears wafting toward my song. My voice wobbled and cracked and I couldn’t remember the tune. I made up the words. They didn’t rhyme. The deer didn’t seem to mind.

Sometimes it happens like this. The longed-for moment of synchronicity. The camera is loaded, the light is right and the subject manifests right under your nose. I couldn’t find the deer, so they came to me. I filmed them for about ten minutes in the dying autumn light. A blessing. A gift. I’m so grateful.