by Amy Bowers
In the yard at 3am, waiting for the dog to pee, I grumble and try to fall back asleep while standing; my down cocoon and work boots acting as an armature.
I jerk alert remembering the coy-wolves that prowl this neighborhood. One in my driveway the other night as I pulled in.
The road is lit in moon-magnified fog.
A small group of deer emerge with spindle legs.They come closer with a japlopy gait.
Just deer. A nuisance animal, but in the misty middle: fantastical, sentient, royal.
One recognizes me, staring. The dog sits alert but calm, ears erect and twitching off beat.
After 100 years, they pass into the neighbor’s yard and begin to, honest to god, frolic. They skitter jump as their legs move with awkward power as if pulled by invisible strings laced up through the sky.
And that was that.
photo credit: Will Bolding, Unsplash