I remember walking through the woods. I remember the damp earthy smell caused by early morning dew. A chill hovers in the air around me, splotches of comforting warmth on my skin as the first rays of sun break through the leafy canopy, the rustle of underbrush as the inhabitants stir, stretching and preening feathers and fur tousled by sleep, the first drowsy calls of birds as they greet the morn. somewhere off to my left and just ahead the babbly of a lazy brook as its cold, clear waters rush and break across the rocky bed. the serenity broken only by the plod of my feet in time to my languid gait, and the whispered click and whir of my shutter in an amateur attempt to capture the beauty and peace of that time and place.
A doe, three paces right and six ahead, contemplates my approach with luminous brown orbs. Slowly, cautiously I knelt, the dampness of the earth seeping through the rough fabric of my jeans, to steady my aim. As my finger tensed to capture the moment, a fawn, soft velvety brown and flecked with white, almost as if someone had flicked a paintbrush at him, steps to her side. In awe my camera droops slowly and then falls from my hand. My sudden movement to catch it, despite the strap around my neck, scares the doe, gone.
I rise muttering quiet curses at my own stupidity and brush the muck from me knees, only managing to spread it further as I wipe my hands across my thighs. I move to explore the area where they stood, the only evidence of our encounter a near perfect set of prints in the soft soil. A sudden vibration from my pocket jolts me from my reverie, reminding me of a world that I, for a few moments, had managed to leave behind.
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