My dear friend Mary asked if I would help serve dinner at a homeless shelter. Sure, why not? And I was excited when she invited me to sit in with her band. But I didn’t realize the dinner was the day after the gig, or that we had to make dinner and bring it, for 50 people. Oh, well. At least I could volunteer for salad, and avoid making the casseroles.
It had been years since I’d sung with a band, so I was a bit nervous, but the music flowed, and we all had fun. After the long drive home, it was going on midnight and I went from wired to tired. But the next day was going to be full, so before I could hit the sack, I had to wash, dry, rip and re-package twenty heads of romaine lettuce, toast a couple pounds of almonds, wash apples, and cut red onions. A small thing, considering how blessed I was compared to those who would eat this simple meal. And yet, though I hate to admit it, I was feeling a bit grumpy as I bumbled around the kitchen.
Then the familiar motion-detector light on the garage caught my eye, and there it was – this stunning buck, watching me as I gazed at him. Thank you, I thought, almost holding my breath. I’m so glad I’m up and in the kitchen!
I told myself not to even think of getting my camera. Just soak in these magic moments. I did. Then I realized my camera was right behind me. Luck on top of luck! Even as I took a step back, then closer to the window, and took picture after picture, the buck was unconcerned, keeping an eye on me between nibbles of dried-up garden.
The light went out. I suspected he came through the arbor and down the steps into the grassier yard, as the fawns and their mothers often did. I couldn’t resist going to the door and slowly opening it. I should have known he would bound off through the darkness, unseen. But just hearing his hooves hit the ground and feeling his presence without walls, windows, and camera between us made my heart beat faster. Would he come back? Maybe he was one of the fawns born in my yard over the years, returning to a place that felt safe, on this, the first day of hunting season.
I went back to work on the lettuce, but my tiredness and resentment had vanished. All I felt was wonder and gratitude, and all I saw was that picture of grace.
© 2014 Holly Jorgensen