THIS merit hath the worst,—
It cannot be again.
When Fate hath taunted last
And thrown her furthest stone,The maimed may pause and breathe, And glance securely round.
~Emily Dickinson
The deer invites no longer
Than it eludes the hound.
This one is eluding me right now. I *think* she’s saying that when you’ve experienced the worst, then you get a respite. I am really not sure. The combination of 6:30am and a weekend of two kid slumber parties is not helping me out.
I chose this one for the deer and the hound–a break from ghosts and wandering spirits. Hunting season has just begun here in the rural South. In one way or another, a lot of folks have deer on the brain.
We don’t hunt, though we have a lot of friends and family who do. Our closest approximation to hunting is checking the trail cam we keep in the woods behind our house. Usually there are several pictures of deer, perhaps a raccoon or two, and a bunch of random tree pictures probably triggered by the wind in the branches or the flight of a passing bird.
Last night, though, we checked the latest set of images and found three pictures of bear cubs. We geeked out pretty hard over these. Baby bears are stinking adorable. Their noses and heads are out of all proportion to their little bodies.
It was magical to see them, to know that these huge creatures are moving along the paths we walk daily. However, I now have cause to fear a different kind of hunting. I think it’s time to go batten down the beehives……
The Emily Project 