There, in the yard as intent on Deer as Deer is on she, sits a golden retriever. Not a peep comes from her mouth. She sits. Facing Deer. Watching Deer. I look for the person near by that has commanded her, golden coat reflected in the setting sunlight, to remain still in Deer’s presence. I see no one. Yet there she sits. Alone in the yard. Neither barking nor jumping up to chase you, Deer. I am in awe of her stillness. And Deer’s. I wish I could find that stillness in my morning meditation. Watching. Relaxed. Yet completely alert in the present moment.
Are you speaking a language I can not hear, Deer and Retriever. I sense it. Wonder. Caution. Curiosity. Perhaps a spark of recognition.
You are young, not as small as the other Deer with you. Certainly as thin and scruffy. Especially scruffy this year I think. A result of the dry spring? There is still so little green life springing from the ground. And this. One of your favorite spots for lunch and dinner? Do you, Deer and and Golden Dog gaze at one another each afternoon?
Have you forged an unspoken friendship?
I want to stop my car and gaze at the two of you until the spell breaks, until the sun turns the snow capped mountains into glowing rose quartz peaks, until I can begin to hear the silent language between you.
What is the language that is spoken in the eyes of Deer and the erect and still attention of Golden Dog?
