deer

On a narrow road, between a wide lake and a cold ocean, a man is riding a bike. Under the late afternoon sun, he takes his hands off the handlebars and drifts along.

To his left, the lake shines quietly as sun seeps through a passing sheet of clouds. Long pampas grass bends in the wind. Broad leaved brush rustles. To his right, dried reeds stand stiffly against the ocean breeze. Cold white waves roar. The waves endlessly pushing and pulling dark sand along the shore.

On this calm middle road, he can see both sides. And he feels light. Holding onto nothing. Letting his hands hang free as he cycles.

But there are paths that lead off the road to either side. These paths ask him to explore them, and pull his attention from the middle road that offers a view of everything to a focused point.

There comes a path that leads to the ocean. Grasping the breaks, the man slows and stops. He puts the kickstand down, dismounts and walks the trail. Dirt turns to sand. Sand kicks up into his sneakers. On the beach, he finds a large structure made of driftwood. It looks like a giant unlit bonfire. The driftwood pile is wrapped in old thick rope. Buoys are uselessly caught up in the tangle. A tattered flag hangs from the top. Sitting on the summit of dead trees is a crow who looks out to the rolling salt water. As he approaches for a better look, the crow flies away.

The man smiles, turns back. Reaching his bike, he puts up the kickstand and begins pedaling. It takes some effort to regain the momentum that makes riding feel effortless. But once up to speed, he again lets his hands drop from the handlebars.

A little later, he stops once more. This time at a bench that offers a view of the lake. The man pauses with the swaying grassy knolls in front of him and looks out to the water. The colours of the scenery take on their own shapes. Burnt yellow between white reflects across stirring blue, surrounded by tall standing purple-grey and lush green. As the sun moves to the west, the scenery takes on richer hues. The shapes deepening.

Again, the man smiles, puts up the kickstand and pushes off. He stands as he pedals to press down harder, to go faster and get back to a sailing speed. Again, his hands fall.

He rides over a bridge that spans a stream joining the lake and ocean. He sees the end of the road in the distance.

Down a hill. Over a field. The man arrives at a wall of tall pines that stretch into a forest. Just beyond the trees is a small clearing. A spring babbles to one side. A bench or two are there as well. Trimmed grass. A spice-resin scent floats through tree-filtered sunlight.

And in this quiet space, there is a family of deer. Two are large, one of them with horns. And two smaller fawns.

The man has not yet entered the clearing among the trees. And the deer have not yet seen him. They are still a ways off in this place steeped in unmoving time. A serene moment. Undisturbed.

But the man wants to take a picture of it.

So, he puts his kickstand down and pulls out his old camera. He looks through the lens but the deer are too far away to see clearly.

He slowly walks forward to the edge of the clearing. He repeatedly looks up at the deer and then down through his camera to check how the animals appear in the frame.

He stops. Takes a photo. The shutter sound goes off and the deer look up at him. But they continue grazing.

Blurry. Still too far away.

The man moves closer, stepping in among the trees and grass while peering through his camera. The deer stare at him again and begin to move away.

Not wanting to miss his chance, the man rushes forward to try to and capture the moment. But the animals quickly turn their backs and silently step into the trees.

He squats down and puts his camera away. Resigning himself, the man tries to be part of what is left of his time. He watches the family of deer walk out into the safety of the forest. He sees them in small intervals between the wide evergreens and obscuring brush.

And then they have gone.

The man is left with some poor photos of that peaceful moment when deer stood grazing.

He has only the clear memory of deer moving away, hidden between pines, and disappearing into the woods.

He returns to his bike and begins the journey back. Pedaling, he savors the feeling of the breeze flowing through empty hands.