Two Worlds

Magical Leaves; Deb Marshall photo

This autumn, one morning early, were two jolly horses, dressed all in their barn blankies, escaped from a home we knew not where, rolling and rolling and rolling in the fresh new snow that barely whitened the ground, jumping up to race about the garden when the wind blew, stopping to nibble thyme and grass, and then rolling again, jumping and skittering, wind blow, leaves toss, giant hoofprints in empty beds that I carefully didn’t obscure when I planted fall bulbs. Two jolly horses, out on a morning adventure, leaving behind a little fresh fertilizer, happily accepting some carrots from the Husband’s hand. Two jolly horses, manes blowing with the wind, tails up, skitter – then - settle; taking a side-trip through my field and garden, rolling, rolling, oh, what a day! Two jolly horses, on their way home after visiting the donkey down the road who is the not-so-secret love-object of one jolly horse. 

Two Jolly Horses; Charley Freiberg photo

This autumn, too early in the season, I put birdseed out for the chickadees who were asking for food – landing on the wart rail when I came outside, cocking their heads, peering at me with dark, dark eyes. This autumn, I took a chance that the local bear wouldn’t find the seed and sit on my kitchen wart to feast, as it did once before when I misjudged bear time - it was too early for the bear to have gone sleepy to its winter den. So I scattered sunflower seed, and seed and fruit and nuts, and cracked corn, for the birds who were hungry earlier than usual because the legion of chipmunks (who had finally gone to their winter dens) had eaten all the food the birds would usually munch on in late autumn before looking for sunflower handouts. When I looked out at the wart rail to watch the birds eat their breakfast, there was a squirrel: a fat squirrel, a porky squirrel, a squirrel like none we’d ever seen before; a squirrel with thighs like hams, with a beer belly, who could barely fold its paws across its massive girth; a squirrel as big as our smaller cat. This autumn, a season of strange things and wonders, a fat beer-bellied squirrel ate birdseed as fast as he could stuff it into his mouth. Can this fat squirrel run? I wondered. I opened the kitchen door to see. Yes, this fat squirrel was amazingly fast, belly bumping the ground with every leap. But oh, what a trick it was getting up the tree…

Three curious deer; Deb Marshall photo

 

This autumn, one afternoon before the first snowstorm, which was depressing but nothing as monumentally so as the last snowstorm, the Husband looked out at the garden all brown and empty and saw a deer. This deer is probably one of the two fawns we saw this summer, all striped and spotted, passing through with their mom, frolicking and gamboling on the edge of the woods; this deer is a young deer, but has no more spots or stripes. This deer is a curious deer; it sniffed the compost bins, it sniffed the wind whirler, it walked down the paved garden paths and nibbled dried bits here and there, then walked around the fence and nibbled some more. No dried apples this autumn, hanging on branches – it wasn’t a good apple year. This curious deer walked past the raspberries, walked down the path that was covered with masses of morning glories barely two months ago. This deer became the brown day’s glory, then passed through the arbor, and was gone.

Several days later it was back, its mom and sibling with it. The brave deer again entered the garden, walking the paved paths, while the other two munched and wandered on the other side of the fence. The brave deer came closer and closer to the house, finding its way to the blueberry bushes. But wait! What’s that coming towards it? A great, big, hairy, scary Maine coon cat! The brave deer jumped up into the air and fled in a few bounding leaps; Mom and sibling were out of sight before it got out of the garden. Catmandoo startled slightly, then looked quite pleased with himself. He spent the rest of the day gazing out the window into the garden, on alert, waiting for a chance to chase off giant invaders again.

Dear deer! Deb Marshall photo

This autumn, one weary day I’d driven down to Concord to buy stuff I can’t buy here. Snow was spitting, wind was blowing, I was cranky and tired. In a vast parking lot, under my windshield wiper, was a leaf, a multi-colored, heart-shaped leaf. This leaf was beautiful; this leaf was special; this leaf was unlike any I’d ever seen before. I got out of the car to bring the leaf carefully inside – and there, on the ground, was another; and another; and another; and another. I couldn’t find a tree they’d come from, but they came home with me and I sung happily all the way. This autumn, one weary day when I’d driven farther than I’d wanted to, and was cranky and cold, a leaf was beautiful, and changed my mind.

This autumn, I’m thankful that in spite of everything, the world still holds unexpected gifts. This autumn, which now looks more like winter, I’m thankful that I can still be pleasantly surprised. This autumn, as I will this winter, in spite of the grey, grey days, I look eagerly for the next wonder – an owl’s hoot in the night, a V of geese overhead, a mourning dove’s waddle, a set of perfect paw prints in new snow…

Horses on the move - the neighbor's yard; Charley Freiberg photo

Walking across the wart; Deb Marshall photo

 

The world we travel across is more magical than we think, and more joyful than the artificial one we’ve created and inhabit. Fortunately – or we might all go mad.