I can’t help but wonder
Coffee in hand
What the whitetail thinks.
Submerged in a patch of hop clover
Sharing it with the morning bees,
Is it lost in the wonder of such fortune?
It looks to think it is invisible
In its solitary motionless meditation
Hunkered down, vanished in the moment
Unseen to predators
As a mound of grey and white.
Does it retreat deep into itself
In a quiet reverie
Still in its own reality
Still as it knows to be
A practice tried and true?
And then in an instant of its wise choosing
It breaks from its retreat with a twitch of the nose,
Lifts a clover from the ground
And chews.
-P.Sanderson
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